


Open Family

by SushiOwl



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Baby, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Kidfic, M/M, Minor Character Death, Stony - Freeform, Superfamily, Superhusbands, Teen Years, teen drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 85,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SushiOwl/pseuds/SushiOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark and Steve Rogers adopt a baby boy named Peter. The baby grows up, surrounded by superheroes. And maybe he'll be one himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Giving Away Is Not Giving Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [ComingUpBlue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ComingUpBlue)

Bouncing the baby on her knee, May's eyes flitted anxiously around the room. She was usually the one consoling Ben in waiting rooms, but for this she was a mess inside. They were meeting the adoption applicants, and she was already dead set against anyone that came through that door. Nobody was good enough for their little Peter. She had a list of questions to be asked, and she was sure they would _break_ anyone.

She wasn't necessarily prepared for Tony Stark and Steve Rogers to come through that door. Though it took Ben and herself a moment to register it, they stood greeting them and then the adoption agent, holding the baby on her hip. Ben shook both their hands, looking a little awe struck but containing well. 

When they sat down, Mr Rogers smiled at the baby, which made the baby coo and suck on his fingers. "I had no idea that such illustrious men were looking to adopt," May said, not intentionally meaning to sound suspicious but that's how it came out. She didn't want her nephew to be a publicity stunt.

"Well if we could have one on our own, we would go the natural route," Mr Stark said, all smiles and charisma.

"You would be the crankiest pregnant person," Mr Rogers told him, to which Mr Stark looked aghast.

"And lose my figure?" Mr Stark shook his head. "To be honest, we're trying to keep this quiet."

"Like a secret?"

"Not a secret," he assured. "Just not paparazzi fodder."

"I see," May said, looking down at Peter as he contently gnawed on his own fingers. Then she went into grill mode. She was going to treat these two as if they were just like everybody else, superheroes or no. "Do you think you'll be good parents?"

"Of course," Mr Stark said immediately, scooting a little onto the front edge of his seat. "He'll go to the best schools, have the top tutors, and he'll want for nothing—"

"Actually we have no idea if we'll be good parents," Mr Rogers interrupted, and Mr Stark looked at him like he was ruining everything. Mr Rogers just laid his hand on his knee, and it calmed him, then he took a breath. "We've read all the books. We've baby-proofed the Tower. But nothing can really prepare you for actually having a kid. We don't know. But we're prepared to find out."

Mr Stark stared at him for a minute, before he put his hand atop his. “I think we'll be awesome parents. We'll be the cool dads.”

“Tony,” Mr Rogers said, and Mr Stark 'hmph'ed very softly.

May looked down at Peter then up again like she was going to say something, but Ben squeezed her shoulder. “We can't deny you're excellent candidates,” he said evenly while she was still feeling protective. She liked them, she did, but Peter was her blood, and though getting adopted by such a rich and powerful couple would give him infinitely more chances to... Well, that was what it was all about, wasn't it? Peter deserved more.

The adoption agent decided now was a good time to chime in. “Mr Stark and Mr Rogers are perfectly willing to do an open adoption like you requested, Mrs Parker.”

“You are?” May asked, surprised, because she would have thought anyone so rich would want to have everything to themselves.

“We were hesitant,” Mr Stark begrudgingly admitted, his thumb starting to swipe a path across the back of Mr Rogers hand. “But seeing as what happened to his parents and that you are his aunt and uncle, we want to make sure that he has a—well—a connection to his roots, as it were.”

“It can't hurt to have all the family he can,” Mr Rogers interjected. 

May couldn't help it; she smiled as a tightness rose in her chest. She swallowed and cleared her throat. “Let us talk terms.”

The open adoption was about as open as it could get. Peter would visit the his aunt May and uncle Ben one weekend every two months after the age of ten, and they were to receive pictures all through his life. They were also to spend his birthdays all together. And Aunt May fought for a chance to see the Avengers Tower before she handed over Peter.

Though she wasn't expecting it to be sixty stories high. “Well, he'll certainly get over any fear of heights quickly,” she said as she stood by the large window that took over a whole wall in the room. She could see the whole half of the city that the window was facing.

“A lot of people shy away from that window,” Mr Stark—no, he'd insisted she call him Tony since they were to be family, same with Steve—Tony said as he and Steve stood a couple feet away.

“Not a lot of things scare me,” she told them with a smile. To be honest she wished Ben were there with her, but he had to go to work. She had told herself she could do this alone, and she was, but still she wanted his support.

“Even Steve preferred the blinds down when he first came to live here,” Tony told her, and Steve made a face.

“I have a perfectly healthy respect for falling to my death,” Steve shot back, before he looked at May and took in her face. “Not—not that that's possible. None of the windows even open, and we've put baby gates at all the stairs.” He held up his hands in a non-threatening way as May frowned at him. “Poor choice of words, I guess.”

May decided to let that one slide, because the flush on Steve's cheeks was endearing enough. He was such a good heart that it was painful. “Do you have any pets?” she asked, though a quick glance around proved that they didn't.

“Not unless robots count,” Tony said, and she blinked at him. “But it's not like he'll meet any of those, since he won't be allowed in my work room. We didn't even try to baby proof that.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit, before a smile alighted on his face. “But then there's JARVIS.”

“Who?” May asked.

“Just a rather very intelligent system. JARVIS, say hello to Mrs Parker—ah, May. Sorry.”

“Hello, Mrs Parker,” JARVIS said, and May was taken aback by how proper he sounded, not to mention English. “I am an artificial intelligence system that controls the functions of the Avengers Tower as well as other things pertaining to Mr Stark's work, play and duties as Iron Man.”

“That is very impressive,” May said a little breathlessly, smiling. Tony Stark really was the man who had everything, and he wanted to share that everything with Peter. Suddenly her eyes misted up, and she bit her lip, turning to look out the window.

“Mrs Parker?” Steve asked, far too polite not to use honorifics. 

“It's nothing, I just—I want for Peter the best the world can offer, and I think that here may be that.” She looked down at him, and he stared up at her with his big brown eyes. “Ben and I aren't young anymore, and we can't keep up with Peter. I am just so afraid that we won't be here long enough to see him grow up.”

“We understand,” Steve told her, stepping up and placing his hand on her arm, just above her elbow. “Would it be okay if I held him?”

May looked up at those sincere blue eyes and couldn't possibly say no. She maneuvered the baby into his arms, and Peter made a noise of malcontent at being held by a stranger. Steve seemed to be expecting it, because he murmured some soothing words and rubbed his back. Eventually Peter just leaned against his chest and gazed off to the side, his cheek against his collar. Steve looked like Christmas had come early.

“I knew he'd be little, but I didn't expect him to be so light,” Steve babbled, staring at the brown hair that was starting to grow thickly on Peter's head. 

“He won't stay that way,” Tony said as he came to stand next to Steve, and Peter looked at him with wide eyes. Tony finally pushed his purple tingled sunglasses up and looked at Peter with his face naked and, as far as May could tell, vulnerable. He was smiling softly, and it wasn't guarded or thickly charismatic. “Hello, little man,” he said, taking Peter's little hand, and when his finger was squeezed his voice caught in his throat and came out as a kind of squeak. 

May put the tips of her fingers against her lips, watching them, as her other hand clutched her necklace over her heart. They both looked a bit awestruck by Peter, even more than he was by them. And they were treating him so gingerly. She had been momentarily worried about Steve's strength, but now she wasn't. There was absolutely no way he would ever harm Peter, that she could see. And Tony was willing to let him behind those walls she could see he built up around himself, as he had done for Steve.

They were perfect.

“Would you like to join us for lunch, Mrs Parker?” Steve asked her, smiling so brightly, and she nodded.

As it turns out, Tony Stark was a bit obsessed with being prepared for the new addition to his family. He had just about every flavor of baby food imaginable as well as the best formula on the market. He told her that he researched bottles too, which is why they were so interesting shaped. He had a device to heat up the formula, one like she had never seen. Which was because, as he told her, they were Stark brand and wouldn't be on the market until the patent came through, and she should just wait until she saw the baby walker he built.

Steve had so much fun feeding Peter, and the way the baby clapped seemed to make him want to do it too. He was perfectly fine with the messy side of it too, while Tony leaned over the table wanting to wipe his chin. Steve just batted him away, assuring him that he's clean him up after he was done and there was a bib anyway.

Overall it was a pleasant afternoon, and May almost didn't want to leave. Okay, there was no almost. She held Peter and kissed him all over his plump face, and he burbled, taking hold of her necklace and trying to put it in his mouth. She untangled him from it and handed him back over to Steve. “Goodbye, sweetheart,” she told him with one last kiss on his head. “I will see you later, you hear?”

“When you get to the ground floor, my chauffeur, Happy, will take you home,” Tony told her, punching the button on the elevator to make the door open. He squeezed her hand as she stepped inside, and Steve picked up Peter's hand to make him wave. She waved back at them, feeling like her heart was in her throat. When the doors closed between them, she dropped her hand and looked down.

As the elevator descended, she mutely listened to the dings that announced the floors going by. She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath, tears dripping slowly from her lashes. She smiled though, because even though she was sad to part with her family, she was hopeful for his future. He was going to grow up to be so amazing, and she was still going to be around to witness it. She couldn't ask for anything more.

###### 

Left with the baby and themselves, Steve and Tony looked at each other, both of them widening their eyes. 

“We have a kid,” Tony said first, sounding like he couldn't believe it.

“We have a son,” Steve agreed, his voice similar.

“Whoa,” was Tony's opinion. “And nothing went wrong.”

“You're going to jinx it,” Steve told him.

“No, I mean, it could be worse. It could have been picketed by that church like our wedding.” Tony shook his head, before he lifted his hand and picked up his sunglasses off the top of his head, putting them in his pocket. He couldn't help but think that Steve looked amazing with a baby in his arms, so gentle and natural.

“Let's not talk about that,” Steve said, looking like he was trying not to think of his bitterness about that and just looked at Peter face. It was impossible to be upset looking at him. “Do you want to hold him?” he asked, taking a step toward him.

Tony made a face, quickly taking a step back. “I do, but—”

“Tony.”

“I dunno! I'm afraid I'm drop him, and he'll explode or burst into flames, and I—”

“He's a baby, not a nuclear device.”

“I know, just—just give me a bit.” He stepped closer again and cupped the back of Peter's head with his hand. “I know it's easy in theory, but there's something about him being here that's—that's—I don't even know.”

Steve looked at his face and relented, leaning in to put their foreheads together. “Okay,” he said, and Peter reached up to grab his chin, so Tony took his little hand in his. “But don't think you'll get off easy, mister. He's your son too.”

“I know,” Tony said in a little voice, looking a bit distressed. “I'll hold him later.”

###### 

Later was not at two in the morning when Peter stood up in his crib and screamed at the top of his lungs for some unknown baby reason. Steve jerked up in the bed as Tony moaned and pressed his face into the pillow. As Tony tried to fight off sleep, Steve was already up and walking out of the room. Tony rolled onto his back, blinking his eyes open and turning his head to look at the baby monitor as he heard Steve's soft voice trying to calm poor baby Peter.

“Hey, buddy,” he heard Steve say, but Peter continued to screech on. He could see on the tiny screen as Steve picked him up, but that did little to quiet him. “Oh, you need a change,” he said, taking him out of view of the camera and no doubt putting him on the changing table. He could hear the sound of rusting before Steve said “Oh my, how did all that come out of little you?” which made him smile lazily. Peter had quieted and giggled in response.

He watched through one eye as Steve cradled Peter in his arms and paced in and out of the camera's view, humming some nonsensical tune. “There you go, sweetheart,” he told the baby as he finally laid him back in the crib and covered him with his blanket. He kept one hand in the crib, perhaps touching his face or holding his hand, Tony couldn't be sure, before he withdrew and shut the light off again. The baby's dimly lit mobile turned above him, and there was a tiny noise that ended in a squeak. Tony was almost positive it was a little yawn.

Steve came back into their bedroom, and the mattress dipped as he got back onto the bed. Tony started to turned toward him, but Steve was already pressing against his back and scooping his knees under his legs. He grunted a little as Steve draped one comfortably heavy arm around him and splayed his hand across his arc reactor. 

Tony felt a bit guilty as he pulled the covers more tightly around them. If there was a way he could understand his fear of holding Peter, then he could overcome it, but there was no understanding something irrational, which annoyed him further. He just had to do it. He knew Steve was going to gently suggest therapy if he didn't hold their son soon, and that would send him running for the hills. If there was only thing he hated more than anything, it was talking about his feelings. 

He would hold Peter later.

###### 

Later was not two days afterward when Peter was motoring around in the living room while Steve was walking behind him. Tony was sitting on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, parts of a modified Stark phone spread out on its surface. He was watching them, barely paying attention to his own project. Steve was beyond suited to be a father, and Peter adored him.

He watched Steve pick up the baby, swinging him up and holding him securely upside down. Peter squealed in joy, before he was brought in close and Steve blew a raspberry on his exposed tummy. He could tell Peter felt so safe with him, and why shouldn't he? He was Captain America, the sweetest guy on the planet. Steve put him back down, and Peter made a beeline right for the coffee table, a force of nature on all fours, before he went behind it and all but collapsed in Tony's lap.

“Hey, little man, what're you doing?” Tony asked him with a laugh, holding his hands up with different parts between his fingers. Peter just looked up and him and wriggled to get completely in the divot that his folded legs created. It was like he was lounging. 

Steve sat down on the couch next to him. “He wants you to hold him, Tony.”

“I know he does, but he doesn't understand that I'm working,” he said as he set down the bits of machinery and picked up a micro screwdriver. “Daddy has a deadline,” he told the baby, screwing one part to another. 

Steve heaved a sigh, before he leaned over and pulled the baby from his lap to put him in his own. “Daddy is making excuses,” he said in the same tone Tony had used.

Tony huffed. “Daddy's damn good at it.”

“Language!” Steve hissed, before he stood up with Peter in his arms. “It's time for lunch anyway.”

“Oh, can you make me a sandwich?” Tony called after him, and Steve gave him a look over his shoulder. “What? It's not like I told you to get in the kitchen.” Tony held his hands out. He watched Steve disappear behind the wall that separated the kitchen and dining room from the living room. He waited about 30 seconds. “Is that a no?”

Steve was probably upset that he still hadn't held Peter, but he would do it later.

###### 

Later comes when you least expect it.

Happy drove them all to the park, and Tony had to admit that Steve looked adorable pushing a stroller. He'd modified said stroller so it could be used by remote control and voice command, but Steve had insisted on manual control. And that was even more adorable.

They were sitting on a bench with Steve holding Peter and Tony with his arms over the back, thirty minutes into their outing, before the were accosted by paparazzi. They saw them coming and both gave sighs. Even with sunglasses, people were bound to recognize them. They got up and prepared themselves for the onslaught.

The pictures happened before the questions, and Tony was at least relieved that no one was using their flashes on their cameras. That would have distressed Peter even more than suddenly being surrounded by people. He was looking around at them in confusion, making little noises like he was going to start crying any second now. Steve was holding the back of his head and keeping him close, like he was shielding him.

“Mr Stark! Mr Rogers!” called the loudest person in the group. “When did you get a baby? Did you adopt it? What's its name?”

“He's not an it,” Steve told him, already looking irritated. He had monologued on multiple occasions about how in this century, privacy was invaded like it wasn't even there. Tony had to agree, even if he didn't have a frame of reference. “His name is Peter, and we adopted him a week ago.” 

“Would you make an official statement about him?” asked someone else, shoving a recorder close enough that Tony had to move away, putting him right next to Steve.

He was about to say something dryly sarcastic when he felt a little hand tug on his sleeve, and he looked down at Peter's little face. His cheeks were wet, he was making desperate little sounds, and he had a snot bubble. He looked so tortured, and it was Tony he was reaching for. 

Tony didn't even think about it, he pulled the baby from Steve's hands and held him against his chest, his little face nestled against his neck. He rubbed his back, and Peter's soft noises of terror quieted. He couldn't believe he'd waited this long to hold his child. The baby felt so at home in his arms, and his private pleased look Steve was giving him was wonderful too.

The picture taking soared.

After they escaped from media and were back in the backseat of the car, Tony still held Peter to him. He hadn't put him back in the stroller, instead just carrying him back down the path as pictures were snapped of them. His hand was moving rhythmically up and down Peter's back, and the baby was dozing, spit dribbling onto his collar. And he didn't care. He actually didn't care at all.

“Are you going to put him down?” Steve asked him, still smiling so bright.

“Later,” Tony said, putting his lips against their baby's hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was beta read by my best friend and roommate, [ComingUpBlue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ComingUpBlue).
> 
> I hope this reads okay and doesn't break canon too terribly. This is my first time writing anything like this.


	2. Hello, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter meets the Avengers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [ComingUpBlue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ComingUpBlue)

“So why did you wait so long to invite us up to see him?” Janet asked as she sat on the couch and held Peter on her lap. He was holding onto a blue hypoallergenic frog toy, bouncing it up and down. Hank was sitting next to her, his arm tossed over the back of the couch as he watched her interact with the baby.

“We wanted to give him enough time to get used to us before we introduced him to the team,” Steve said, looking a little like he wanted to take Peter back. This was the first time in a while that the baby hadn't been in the arms of only Tony or himself. “We figured a month was enough. Sorry we've been so busy with him that it's been radio silence.”

“We've had to keep track of what you two were doing with the newspapers and tabloids,” Clint told them from where he was on the bar stool he had dragged in from the kitchen. “And I'm pretty sure half of that were lies. He's not a vat baby made of both your DNA, is he? You didn't actually figure out how to do that, right?”

“If I had, you would be the first to know,” Tony replied from where he was sitting on the arm of the couch. “We have an open adoption from a couple, his aunt and uncle. They're very nice and understanding people.”

“Whose last name is he taking?” Jan asked, holding Peter's wrists in her hands and helping him dance in her lap as he gave tiny giggles. “Are you hyphenating the two of your names?”

Steve and Tony looked at each other, before Tony just gave a deep shrug and a kind of smile. “Eeeh, we have no idea. We've talked about it at length, but we think we're just going to keep the last name Parker and ask him when he's older if he'd like to take our names.”

Peter threw his toy and then immediately started to cry, so Hank got up to pick the toy up from where it had fallen off the opposite side of the coffee table. “If you ever need a babysitter, Hank and I could totally look after him,” Janet said, and Hank nodded in agreement.

“Oh, me and Nat could watch him too,” Clint volunteered, and then he very carefully ignored Natasha as she turned in the armchair and gave him a look that said 'are you out of your damn mind?'

“We'll keep that in mind,” Steve told them with a laugh, before he set his hand on Tony's knee. “It's too bad that Bruce was too busy to come up and that Thor's in Asgard.”

Tony huffed, mumbling an agreement as his face screwed up in irritation. He crossed his arms as Steve turned to talk to the others about the preschools they had already picked out, and his thought drifted to Bruce. He understood that Bruce got lost in his work. He _really_ understood, because he knew what it was like to pull an all-nighter without even knowing the sun had gone down. Still, the man could have put some time aside to meet their son.

“You know what!” Tony said suddenly, getting up and completely interrupting the conversation. “I can't do anything about Thor, but I say we go ambush Bruce.” He walked around to the front of the couch and picked Peter up. “Who's with me?” He looked to their guests, because it was obvious Steve was coming with him so there was no need to consult him. Everyone else looked at each other.

“That's kind of mean, Tony,” Janet told him, standing up too and holding her hand out for Hank. “We've got to go back to the helicarrier. We're looking over prisoner rehabilitation reports for the Big House today.”

“Leave him alone. He works on schedule, unlike you,” Natasha said as she uncrossed her legs and stood up. “Which is why he gets things done.”

“I get things done!” Tony complained, meeting a shared look from everyone else. “Eventually. Fine, you guys aren't invited. It would be crowded anyway, and his lab doesn't have any seating.”

After everyone left, Steve accompanied him onto the elevator to go to Bruce's floor, and they rode in silence with calm elevator music drifting around them. Tony wouldn't let that stave off his irritation. Bruce could have been called his best friend, and he was taking his distance very personally. Who cares if Tony hadn't contacted him in a month? Bruce should still make time! Yeah.

They stepped into the entryway of Bruce's apartment, and Tony shifted Peter's weight onto his hip so he could use his arm to press the doorbell button on the number pad that worked as a lock. They stood there for a minute, and it was obvious that Bruce either didn't hear it or he was just not going to answer. Tony assumed the latter, which made him narrow his eyes. What could he be working on that engrossed him so deeply?

“JARVIS,” Tony said after he'd rung the bell again to no answer. “Master override Bruce Banner's security using code 'alpha gamma.'”

“Tony,” Steve said in a exasperated but kind of resigned way, since he was accustomed to Tony's behavior.

“What? I'm concerned for my friend. He could be dead. How many times have you accused me of accidentally starving myself during my long binges in my workroom?” Tony asked as he pushed the door open and strode through the living area right for Bruce's lab. He doubted Bruce was nearly as bad as he was. The man probably showered more often and didn't forget to eat, but him being out of touch was just plain annoying.

Was this what it felt like to others when he disappeared?

“Banner!” he barked as he barged into his lab, and it was lucky that Bruce wasn't holding something volatile because he jumped and dropped everything in his hands, which was a clipboard and a pen. Even so, he didn't look that surprised to see them. “We were afraid you were dead.”

“He's kidding,” Steve deadpanned next to him.

Bruce sighed and rubbed his eyes under his glasses with his fingertips. “I wasn't kidding when I said I was busy,” he said, sounding tired and frustrated and relieved they were there all at the same time.

“Yeah well, it's time for a break,” Tony told him, stepping forward and putting them a foot apart. “This is Peter, and he would very much like to meet his daddy's best friend.” 

Bruce stared at Peter, and Peter stared back. The baby made a sound like 'gah!' and leaned back so he could gaze at him upside down. That brought a gentle smile to Bruce's lips, and he lifted his hand to support Peter's head, which made the baby smile and clap his hands together imprecisely. “I can't believe you have a baby,” he said finally, turning his eyes up to Tony's face.

“You can't believe it?” Tony said with an incredulous laugh. “I'm still getting used to the fact that I'm married.” He looked as Steve came up behind him and set his hands on his shoulders, before he bumped their heads together gently. 

“He's adorable,” Bruce went on, still holding the back of Peter's head. He really was a little awe struck. “How old is he?”

“Fourteen months,” Steve answered.

“And three days,” Tony added.

Bruce laughed, before his eyebrows went up when Tony made a motion like he was going to hand the baby over, and he quickly put his arms in the right position. “Oh, he's so little,” he said with a soft chuckle, bouncing just a bit. Peter seemed to be loving it too. “He has such a calm temperament.” 

“You should see him at feeding time, changing time and in the middle of the night,” Steve told him as he laid his chin on Tony's shoulder and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“Lies, our baby is perfect,” Tony said with a huff. “So what were you working on that kept you from coming to the get together with everyone else?”

“Hm?” Bruce said, looking up from Peter. The question registered in his mind, and he looked at his desk. “God, I don't even remember,” he admitted, before he sidled over to where he'd put his clipboard. “Oh, yes, well...” He launched into a long explanation, which very much interested Tony even though Steve was lost partway through. Eventually it became two men talking science with a baby in the middle, but said baby looked happy enough until he fell asleep in Bruce's arms.

Then it was three men going 'aww.'

###### 

Inevitably something has to go wrong, and it started out so innocently.

“I could do with a run,” Steve said as he laid on the floor and held Peter up in the air, making whooshing noises like the baby was flying. “I've been neglecting my workouts.”

“I know what you mean,” Tony replied from the couch, slouched down and tired. Peter had cried almost the entire night, so neither he nor Steve had gotten much sleep and were not very active at the moment.

Since the baby had come along he had been in his work shop only once, and it felt like he was having withdrawals. He wanted to go and create something, anything, it didn't matter. Or even just tinker a little bit. But he couldn't, not with Peter around. He knew it was the same with Steve's work outs. He wanted the same release of endorphins that inventing gave him.

Well there was no reason for them both to suffer. They could figure out a schedule later.

“Why don't you go, and I'll watch him?” Tony suggested, dragging himself up so he could drop to his knees next to Steve and take Peter from him. Then he laid down and the baby sprawled over his chest, pawing at his arc reactor through his black tank top.

Steve looked at him. “Are you sure?” he asked, and at Tony's nod he sat up and stretched his arms up over his head. “Okay, I'll only be about an hour, so I'll be back in time for his lunch.” He patted Peter's back, before he leaned over and pressed his lips to Tony's softly, brushing them together like a promise of something else.

“Goooo,” Tony said with a laugh, pushing him away and draping his arm over his eyes. Now was not the time to start thinking about something like that, damn. It was another thing they'd neglected since Peter had come into their lives.

“Okay, okay, I'll be back. Don't feed him without me,” Steve said as he got up and went to change. 

Tony stayed where he was with Peter on his chest, listening to Steve move through the apartment. He waved at him upside down as he got into the elevator, before he sat up, taking Peter's hands and standing him up in front of him between his legs. The baby stayed that way for a few seconds, before he plopped onto his butt and rolled back, grabbing his own booties and rolling back and forth.

“I feel the exact same way,” Tony said, flopping back and letting his arms splay out at random. “It's an interesting feeling when you want to do everything and yet nothing at the same time.” He bent his knees and crossed his ankles to make a barrier so he would know when the baby tried to crawl away, before he closed his eyes.

In the darkness of his eyelids, his brain summoned machine parts and equations, old projects that he'd put on the back burner coming back into view. He scrolled mentally through the list of things he needed to approve on his suit, such as the banking response time and the repulsor kickback, and tried to find something especially simple that he could time care of in little to no time.

Peter rocked up and tried to climb onto him again, putting all his weight on one hand on Tony's crotch. It made him curl like a pillbug with a gasp, before he picked up the baby and sat with him in his arms. “I kind of need that, Peter,” he told him, tapping the baby on the nose, and his finger was grabbed as the baby laughed. 

He got up and was headed toward the couch, but he stopped, looking down the hall toward his workroom. He knew that he and Steve agreed that Peter wasn't going to be allowed in it, but what was the harm if he kept his eye on him while he worked? He grabbed Peter's blanket and frog and stepped over the baby gate at the head of the hall, walking down it and coming to his workroom. He leaned into the number pad so he could punch the code with his hands full, then walked through the sliding door.

Dummy gave a whirling noise in greeting, and he couldn't help but smile at the robot as he walked over to the desk. He laid out Peter's blanket and set him onto it, handing him his frog. “Okay, little man, be good while daddy changes the world.” He gently ruffled his hair before he sat down at the desk. “JARVIS, bring up all Mark IV repulsor drafts.” As all the hologram screens bloomed before him, he saw Peter throw his frog out of the corner of his eye. He turned in his chair to go pick it up, but Dummy rolled up to it and fetched it, bringing it back and setting it gently in the baby boy's hands. “Well, how about that?” he said with a smile. Finally Dummy was good at something.

He watched Peter throw the frog again and Dummy fetch it, before he turned to his work and lost track of time.

But later. “There you are.”

Tony pulled his soldering iron away from his project, glancing over to see Steve coming in. He smiled briefly at him before he looked back at the cooling metal. “Hey, how was your run?”

“Fine,” Steve said, and there was a tightness in his voice. “I see that Dummy's watching Peter.”

“Yeah, it's great. Maybe I'll market it. Robo-nannies.” Tony picked up the plate and turned it over, making sure the connection he made was secure.

“For rich parents that don't have time for their kids.”

“Yeah,” Tony said with a laugh, before he stopped and straightened up, looking over at Steve completely. He was holding Peter, the blanket and the frog. And his expression was one of clear disappointment. “Was that a stab at me?”

“Yes.” Steve turned, shaking his head and walking out of the workroom in long strides with Peter looking over his shoulder.

Tony put down his soldering iron and moved the hologram screens out of his way, staring after him in confusion. What had he done wrong? “JARVIS, save my work,” he said as he started after Steve.

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS said as he was already out of the room.

“Steve,” he called, stepping over the baby gate and looking around for him. He found him in the dining room, feeding Peter. “What did I do?”

“You couldn't watch him for an hour while I was gone,” Steve said in an even voice, the one he used when he was trying not to show his emotions.

“I was watching him.”

“No, Dummy was watching him. You were working.”

“Well I deserve to get to do what I want too,” Tony said, opening his arms wide as he stood next to Steve. “Nothing happened. Dummy's great with him.”

Steve pressed his lips together, setting down the spoon and scattering a few Cheerios on the high chair table for Peter. Then he got up and stood toe to toe with him. “Nothing happened, but that doesn't mean nothing could have happened. Your work place is a dangerous place for a baby.”

“I was right there next to him, and I was watching him. He was fine!” Tony bit out through his teeth. He was not going to be intimidated by Steve's height or anger.

“You were using a soldering iron!” Steve barked, which was strange because he wasn't usually the first to yell. “What if he'd grabbed the cord and pulled it onto himself? He would have been seriously scarred. What if Dummy had rolled over his hand? What if he cut himself or poked his eye out on the sharp pieces of scrap metal you have around your workroom? He's a baby, Tony! And you put him in an unsafe place.”

Tony stared up at him, his eyes widening a little. “I didn't think—”

“That's right! You didn't think. You don't think. You just—you just do and then deal with the consequences.” Steve sat back down, putting his hand on the side of Peter's face since he was starting to cry. It was only a matter of time before those low sad murmurings turned to screams. “You can't afford to do that anymore.”

Tony stared at Steve, his fingers curled into fists. He wanted to hold onto his anger, wanted fight for what he had been doing. However he couldn't deny the guilt that was crawling up his spine, and when he looked at Peter's face he was lost. Tony uncurled his fingers and dropped his face into his hand, sighing loudly. He grabbed a chair, dragging it on its back two legs to sit by them, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

He could feel Steve's gaze on him, and he looked up at those blue eyes. There wasn't anger on his face anymore, but there was a tightness. “I'm sorry,” Tony told him, reaching out and grabbing onto his the hand that wasn't soothing their son. “I am.”

“I know you are,” Steve told him, the tension going out of his broad shoulders. “Just don't do it again. Please.” He laid so much emotion on that one word that it tightened Tony's chest.

“I won't.” He reached between his legs and grabbed the chair, dragging it closer to Steve so he could lean his his forehead against his arm. “I won't.”

If anything ever happened to Peter because of him, he would never be able to forgive himself.

###### 

At half past three in the morning, Peter started to cry. It began as hiccuping and developed into screaming. Tony and Steve were so tired from the night before that neither of them moved right away. Tony eventually reached over and grabbed the baby monitor, before he rolled and pushed it against Steve's face, earning an unhappy grunt.

“It's your turn,” Tony told him, his voice muffled since his face was buried in a pillow.

“Is not,” Steve replied, brushing his arm away.

“Pretend it is,” Tony whined, nudging him with the baby monitor again.

“Tony, please.”

Tony sighed heavily. Steve's pleases were going to be the death of him. He rolled over and up, setting the monitor on the bedside table. As he walked out, he thought about complaining that even though Steve had spent nearly a century in ice, he was still technically older than him. Something about respecting your elders. But then there was no way he was going to admit he was old, so that argument was out.

“Hey, hey, little man, what's your major malfunction?” Tony asked in a gentle way as he came into Peter's room and went straight to the crib to pick him up without turning on the light. “You're okay.” He felt his diaper. “You need a change, but you're okay.” He laid him onto the changing table and reached over to turn on the light.

“Dada!” 

Tony froze, his hand an inch from the light, and he turned back to the baby, who was lying there with the biggest smile on his face like all the world belonged to him. Tony heard fast, thundering footsteps, and Steve was at the doorway. 

“Did he—”

“Yes, he did,” Tony answered before he could even finish his question. “He called me 'dada'.”

As he came closer, Steve clicked on the light, and Tony was momentarily blinded because his eyes were open so wide. He swallowed, automatically going through the movements of changing his diaper as Steve looked on. Then Tony pulled Peter into his arms with Peter’s head on his shoulder and turned, leaning his own forehead against Steve's neck. Steve put his arms around him and held him in silence as moisture welled on Tony's lashes. He took in a sharp breath as his lungs screamed for oxygen, and Steve cupped the back of his neck.

“He recognizes you,” Steve told him gently, with an answer coo from Peter.

Peter acknowledged him as his father, not just some guy that was taking care of him. Peter knew, and Peter understood. And that was something that left Tony taken aback and overwhelmed. He hadn't been prepared.

“I'm not crying,” Tony said, squeezing his eyes shut tighter, even as the wetness on Steve's neck betrayed his words. He drew back finally and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “Don't tell anyone.”

“And have them think you're human?” Steve asked, leaning in to press a kiss to Peter's cheek, much to his squealing delight.

“Can't have that.” Tony stuck his tongue out, before he turned back to the crib and laid Peter down. He pulled the blanket over him as Steve put his arm around his waist and brought their sides flush together. The baby yawned and settled back down as they watched. “God, he's cute,” he whispered.

“Just like his dad,” Steve whispered back.

Tony looked at him. “I'm not cute!” he hissed.

Steve just lifted his brows at him, before he took one last look at the baby then turned to go out.

“Steve!” Tony whisper-yelled after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again beta read by the flawless [ComingUpBlue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ComingUpBlue).
> 
> Next chapter: Clint and Natasha babysit.
> 
> I hope everyone's enjoying this story! Tell me what you think if you have the time!


	3. Find What Works

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natasha babysit.

When Tony put his mind to things, he got results. There was no reason that couldn't include this.

“Okay, little man, we can do this,” he said, upright on his knees and holding Peter at his sides so he was standing on his booty-covered feet. “You got this. All you have to do is visualize it. I believe in you.” He released him slowly, making sure he wasn't going to fall over, before he scooted quickly back on his knees. “Okay, come to daddy.” He held his arms out for him, his hands spread wide.

Peter stood for a moment, before he rocked back and landed on his butt. He put his little hands on his booties and pulled them off, holding them above his head with a squeal of laughter. Tony stared, before he sighed and sat back on his heels. This was the fifth attempt, and it kept ending the same way. Maybe he should just stop putting his booties back on and see if that changed the outcome.

“Alright, Peter, one last go,” Tony said, crawling over to him and picking him up again. “You can do it.” He made sure the baby was standing and scooted back again. He held his hands out again, trying to send motivation through the air at the baby. And he was rewarded with Peter plopping down and rolling onto his back to burble at the ceiling. 

Tony leaned forward with a frustrated groan, his arms limp at his sides and his forehead buried in the plush carpet. He didn't understand why this wasn't working. Every book he read said that babies usually started walking between ten and fourteen months. To him that meant his child should have been walking long before they got him, because he was obviously a genius, but Peter was just not working with him here.

He turned his head as Peter crawled over and put his hand on his hair, before he sat up and gazed down at him. Peter motored on past him, going to his blanket and all of his toys. 

Tony turned and watched him, running his tongue over his teeth and thinking. Maybe he needed to try another tactic. He moved over to the baby and stood on his knees in front of him. “Peter, babe, watch daddy,” he cooed at him, and the baby looked at him. “JARVIS, play 'Too Much Time On My Hands.'”

An easy tempo started up in the apartment, and Peter made a noise of interest. This wasn't anything like the song music they played in the nursery or the tunes Steve hummed to him. 

“Listen and wait for it,” Tony said as the drums started up, lifting his hands. He brought one down like he was holding a pick on an air guitar at the first riff. “There it is!” That was the music of his soul, and he was determined to introduce it to Peter early. He continued playing along with the rhythm on nothing, lifting up onto his feet and backing away.

_♫Yeah, I'm sittin' on this bar stool talking like a damn fool  
Got the twelve o'clock news blues♫_

Tony made a face of guilt at the word 'damn'. “Oops, don't tell your other dad.” Still he continued to shuffle his feet to the music, and Peter laughed as he watched him, smacking his frog repeatedly against the ground. “That's it, keep watching me. You'll gain an appreciation for the classics.” He did a twirl, dancing back and forth and starting to sing along. “ _Is it any wonder I'm not a criminal? Is it any wonder I'm not in jail?_ ” 

Those questions had been asked before.

He lifted one leg and hopped along on one foot, still playing his air guitar. He kept his eyes on Peter, who looked like he'd never been more entertained than at this very moment. “C'mon, kiddo, dance with daddy,” he called to him, moving over to take his hands and pull him up onto his feet.

_♫Now, I'm a jet-fuel genius  
I can solve the world's problems without even trying♫_

Tony danced away, taking up his air guitar again and watching Peter patter his feet up and down and clap his hands. “C'mon, Petey! _Is it any wonder I've got too much time on my hands? Ticking away with my sanity!_ ” 

Peter reached for him, grasping at the air with his hands and lifting one foot to set it with an uncertain steadiness before him. Then the other. He got a waddling rhythm down and made for Tony as fast as he could, moving in an uneven line. He lost his balance at the end, but Tony caught him under the arms and lifted him up high in the air. He spun him in a circle, grinning up at him as the song leaned into its last verse.

“You did it, little man!” he told him, before he brought him down and played like he was eating his plump tummy, causing him to squeal. “That's my little genius.”

When Steve got back from his run, Tony showed him the recorded footage of Peter walking, and he had quite a lot to say about it. For one he thought Tony dancing with the baby was ridiculous and lovely all at the time time. Tony could not sing. And Peter walking was the best thing since sliced bread. He couldn't be more proud of both of the men in his life.

###### 

The elevator ride was dead silent between the two of them, the only sound being the calm music, and Clint kept sliding his eyes to look at Natasha. She was standing there with one hand on her hip, not looking at him with her lips pulled to one side. He let out a sigh through his nose, before he slowly moved a hand to poke her in the side.

She snatched his finger without looking and pulled it back at an unnatural angle, just enough for it to hurt and cause him to bend at the knees. “You're going to pay for this,” she told him evenly.

Clint was letting out tiny 'ow's and feeling like he was already paying. “You could have said no,” he complained, and when she let him go he shook his hand out. “You know, I need my hand to shoot my bow, right?” He popped the finger she had abused as the elevator doors opened at Steve and Tony's floor.

“You don't need all of your fingers,” she said, walking out and going to the number pad to punch the door bell button. 

“You know you only agreed because you have nothing else to do,” Clint told her as he came up next to her. 

“That is not the reason,” she argued.

“Then why?”

Before she can answer, Steve opened the door and greeted them with a smile. He was dressed in a nice pair of slacks, a button down shirt and his leather biker's jacket. “Hey, guys,” he said, stepping aside for them and then leading them into the living room where Tony was standing by Peter's blanket in similar nice duds, though with a turtle neck and a suit jacket.

“Hey, you two,” Tony said as Clint walked right over and squatted next to the baby, while Natasha hung back and eyed him. Everyone was used to that, so no one questioned it. “The only things you have to with him is feed him in an hour and then put him to bed. He'll sleep until we get back.”

“He's been running around for a couple weeks now, so just make sure he doesn't go into kitchen and slip on the tile,” Steve said.

“Or in the bathroom and start putting random things in the toilet,” Tony added, putting his hands in his pockets and moving toward the door.

“Oh, or try to climb the baby gate.” Steve remembered, before he and Tony traded looks. “So we've got to ask. Natasha, are you armed?” Natasha lifted her chin, before she slid her eyes to the side. “Natasha, Tony and I would prefer that you not have weapons around the baby.”

Natasha sighed, before she leaned down to reach into her boot and pulled out a little black .380. “It's just a precaution.”

“Against what, diaper changing?” Clint asked, not bothering to hide his humor, and by the way she looked at him, he could tell she was fighting not to aim that gun at him.

Tony picked up a safety box off the shelf and brought it over to her, opening it and holding it out to her to put the pistol inside of it. She appeared like she'd rather chew her own arm off for a moment, before she relinquished her weapon with a sigh. Tony locked the box with a key, handed said key over to Natasha then put the box back on the top shelf of the bookcase. It was unsaid that he trusted her enough not to get her gun the moment they left.

“Thanks. We'll see you around midnight,” Steve said from the door, and he let Tony through, before he waved and walked with him to the elevator.

“How long do you think it's been since they've had any time to themselves?” Clint asked, pulling Peter into his lap and looking over his shoulder at Natasha.

Natasha sat down in the armchair, crossing her legs and setting her hands on the arms like she was sitting in a throne. Clint was often struck be her sexiness at absolutely random, and the worst or best part was that she didn't even try. “Before the baby came along,” she answered, sounding bored already.

Clint smiled, before he got to his feet and picked the baby up, walking over to her. “Want to hold him?” To that she pressed back against the chair and shook her head. “Oh, c'mon, Nat, you agreed to watch him with me.”

“That doesn't mean I have to hold him,” she replied.

“Are you afraid you'll drop him?” He turned Peter in his arms so he was cradling him, and the baby looked up at the ceiling in fascination. 

“No, I'm almost positive the moment I touch him, he'll vomit all over me.”

Clint stared at her, before a slow grin came on his face. He switched Peter in his hands so they were on his sides, before he held him out to her. “C'mon, Nat, be maternal.” She slumped in the chair, her eyes widening and her fingers digging into the arms. When he moved a bit closer, she let out a strangled gasp and slid out of the chair, maneuvering like a spider to the side and getting up.

“Clint, stop it,” she said as she backed away from him as he pursued her with the baby, who was giggling and reaching for her. She ended up against a wall, and her eyes flicked to the security box on the bookshelf.

Clint laughed and pressed Peter against her chest, just holding him there. “Don't tell me you'd shoot a baby,” he said as he watched the baby curiously paw at her chest.

“No, I would shoot you. He's the only reason your legs aren't broken in eight places,” she said, watching Peter push against her breasts, while making little noises. “He's fondling me.”

“He likes you.” The cushion probably interested Peter because he wasn't used to it. “I'm going to let him go now.”

“Don't you dare!” she hissed, her eyes going wide.

“Gonna do it.”

“Clint!”

“Now!” he made a move like he was going to release Peter, and Natasha's hands flew to catch him, one behind his head and the other under his butt. Clint grinned at her, still holding onto his sides. She narrowed his eyes at him, and he laughed, finally letting the baby go now that she had him. Peter seemed happy enough face to face with her cleavage. “You look adorable.”

“I'm going to poison you.”

“Love you too.” He watched her start to gently pat Peter's back, and when the baby burped softly into her chest her face was priceless. “C'mon, Nat, don't you want like three of your own?”

“No,” she answered firmly, before she stepped toward him and put Peter back into Clint's arms. 

“Why did you come with me to watch him anyway?” Clint asked, giving up on making Natasha be motherly. It had been a long shot in the first place. “You really could have just said no.”

Natasha gave a martyr's sigh, before she walked around him to sit back in the chair. “I just wanted to make sure nothing happened.”

“What, like me somehow getting the baby killed?” Clint asked, moving back over to Peter's blanket to set him back down. When he looked at Natasha, she moved her eyes away from him and slumped, touching her fingertips to to her lips. He rocked back onto his butt and stared at her, before he smiled kindly in her direction. “Or did you just want to spend time with me?” 

“Shut up, you're an idiot,” was her answer, and she continued not looking at him.

Clint continued to play with the baby, letting the subject drop, because in his head he had a victory. Peter was more than happy to let him make a kind of puppet show with his toys, laughing and clapping every time he made a weird noise. And he could hard believe how much fun he was having too. Peter's happiness was weirdly satisfying, and he found himself smiling brightly at the baby. And when Peter stood up and fell into his arms, he hugged him, his nose in his hair.

“Clint,” Natasha said, and he looked at her, expecting her to say something about how he would be a fabulous father and she wanted to have a million babies with him, but she just jerked her thumb at the clock on the wall. “Time to feed him.”

Well that was disappointing. “Oh, right,” he said as he got up and pulled Peter into his arms, making him drop his frog. Peter made an unhappy noise, reaching toward the ground, but Clint just rubbed his back and carried him into the dining room. “You're alright, buddy,” he told him, trying to set him into his high chair. But Peter wasn't having it. He was starting to cry, making very upset noises, and was passively resisting getting into the seat. “Oh, c'mon, Peter, work with me here.” The baby was crying now, leaning his head back and wailing like the world was against him.

Natasha came up and helped him put Peter's legs through the holes in the chair, before she picked up the bid that had been left on the table and put it around his neck as he beat his hands on the surface of the high chair table. 

“Don't choke him,” Clint said over her shoulder.

“I'm not,” she replied, finally getting the snap together, before she stepped back. 

Peter continued to scream, making grasping motions in the direction of his blanket. He didn't even look at Clint when he opened his baby food jar. “Hey, Petey, aren't you hungry?” Clint asked him, getting a little on the spoon, which was fashioned to look like an air plane to go with Peter's runway bid, and holding it out to him. Peter turned his face away, resisting. When Natasha offered him is sippy cup, he tossed it across the dining room.

“Oh God, I broke him,” Clint said softly, still holding the spoon and jar in his hands. He looked at Natasha, and she rolled her eyes, before he set her hand on the back of the high chair over Peter's shoulder, leaning in until she was inches from his face.

“Stop,” she said, very firmly and very plainly.

Peter halted, his face dropping, and he stared at her, perfectly silent. She drew back, standing up straight but keeping her hand on the back of the chair like a warning. Peter ate calmly after that, and Natasha kept eye contact with him until she turned and went to get the thrown sippy cup. And when all his food and drink was finished, Clint lifted him out of the seat and went to go back into the living room. 

Peter was reaching long before they hit carpet. “Okay, little dude, you want to walk, here.” He leaned down and put Peter's feet to the floor, holding onto his hands to make sure he was steady, before he let him go. Peter headed straight for the blanket and right for his frog. “Go, little dude, go.” He couldn't help but smile as he watched him waddle, his arms outstretched. He was so determined. Natasha stood next to him, and he could see the barest of smiles curving her lips.

The Peter lost his balance and whacked his head on the coffee table. The screaming was immediate. 

“Oh holy shit!” Clint yelled as he rushed to the baby, skidding on his knees as he dropped, before he got him into his arms. Peter was tense with despair, his hands curled into fists and his eyes shut tight as he cried at the top of his little lungs. There was a bruise blooming on his forehead over a knot, and when Clint touched it gingerly, Peter jerked away with an extra high pitched scream. “Help!” He turned to look at Natasha desperately.

“What am I supposed to do!” she shouted back at him, before her eyes went back to the safety box.

“Don't you leave me here!” Clint cried.

“I'm not, shut up!” Natasha came over to him, dropping to her knees and putting her hand on the back of Peter's head. She pulled a mini-flashlight from somewhere and shined it in Peter's eyes, checking one after the other, and Clint silently praised her ability to be ready for _everything_. “His pupils are dilating regularly, so he more than likely doesn't have a concussion.”

“So it's just a bump on the head, okay, that's fine, that I can deal with,” he said as he looked down at the crying little boy, before he pulled him closer to his chest and started to rock him back and forth. “You're okay, you're okay,” he told him gently, shushing him and rubbing his back.

And then Natasha began to sing, softly, in Russian, which was just, _wow._ She gently stroked Peter's hair, carefully avoiding the lump, and Clint gazed at her as he rocked the baby to her tune. Peter slowed his crying to soft little sobs, tiny hiccups. She lifted her eyes from the baby to look into Clint's eyes, and his lips twitched up at one side. She just rolled her eyes, before she looked down and swiped her thumb over Peter's cheek.

After a while Peter fell asleep to Natasha's song, and they put him into his crib then went to sit in the living room on the couch. Natasha let Clint lean his head on her shoulder, and she held the baby monitor in her hands. Peter didn't make a peep the entire time.

A little before midnight the elevator chimed, and the looked over their shoulders at it. Clint picked up the remote and turned off the TV, and the both got up to meet Steve and Tony at the door.

“Hey,” Steve said after the door closed, and he started to take off his jacket.

“Don't freak out,” Clint said instead of a greeting, holding his hands up.

Immediately the expressions on Steve and Tony's faces fell into worry. “What happened?” Steve asked at the same time Tony asked “What did you do?”

Natasha smacked Clint on the arm. “Don't worry, he's fine. He just had a little accident. He bumped his head on the coffee table, and he has a bruise.”

“Oh my God,” Steve breathed out, and he and Tony went immediately to the nursery to check on their baby.

Clint stood with Natasha, and they traded looks, and he could tell she was wondering if they should just leave too. After a couple minutes Steve and Tony reemerged from the baby's room. They stood in before them, Steve with his arms crossed, and Clint sank into his shoulders like he was a bad kid and was about to be lectured.

“Eh, babies get bumps,” Tony eventually said, mouth splitting into his classic grin. “We're amazed you got him to sleep after it. He scraped his knee the other day, and he was screaming for hours. How'd you manage it?”

Clint and Natasha looked at each other, and in that moment he just wanted to pick her up and spin her around. He knew that would end in broken bones, so he didn't dare. They just shared a little smile. “Our secret, I guess,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders, and for once she let him.

After Natasha retrieved her gun and they said their goodbyes, they rode the elevator down to their floors in compatible silence, listening to the music. “Wanna come to my apartment?” he asked her as they neared it, and he didn't mind that she shook her head.

“Some other time,” she told him as the doors opened, and he put his hand on the door to get it from closing. “Good night, Clint.”

“Good night, Natasha,” he told her, before he leaned in, pursing his lips for a kiss. She sighed like she couldn't be bothered, before she gave him a quick peck then shoved him out of the elevator. He turned and watched her give a coy wave and a wink, and the doors shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too Much Time On My Hands by Styx.
> 
> Next chapter, Peter has a birthday.


	4. Be Happy, It's a Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's birthday is a big affair.

When Tony Stark threw a party, he spared no expense. The same went for Peter's sixth birthday party. He bought out the entire Central Park Zoo for the day for a few of the Avengers, quite a bit of the Kindergarteners in Peter's school and their parents. There was a table set up in the event pavilion, overloaded with presents and a giant cake shaped like a Hulk, by Peter's request.

The kids were crowded around the elephant exhibit, a zoo guide speaking to them into a microphone about the way elephants slung dirt over themselves with their trunks. Peter was sitting on his Uncle Ben's shoulders, smiling big and wide. On either side of him was Steve and Aunt May, while Tony was in the back of the crowd with Pepper.

“I just need you to sign this,” she told him, holding out a tablet and a stylus. He did so without a word, and she put the tablet back in her bag. “This is great party, Tony.”

“Thanks for coming, Pepper,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek, and she smiled, before she patted him on the chest right over his arc reactor.

“No problem. Sorry I had to bring work with me.”

“I know how running Stark Industries is, boss lady. You're doing better than I ever did.” His eyes went back to the zoo speaker as she directed them to the next exhibit, the giraffes, and he and Pepper fell in line behind the horde of excited children. “I'm just glad you could take the time to come to the party.”

“Sorry I missed his last one,” she said with a regretful little sigh through his nose. “And give yourself a little credit. You ran the company splendidly that one time you actually concentrated on it.” She nudged him with her shoulder when he groaned. “There are just other things you're better suited for, like being Iron Man.” She turned her head and looked at him, her lips pulling up at one side. “And a father.”

Tony's eyes widened just a little behind his sunglasses. “You really think so?”

“I didn't at first,” she admitted, and he smiled a little at her honesty. “Had you asked my opinion back then instead of leaping head first into the adoption, I would have told you not to. I expected you would treat a child like you treat everything else but your work.” She smiled enough to show teeth. “I've never been happier to be wrong about you, Tony.”

Tony dropped his eyes from hers, lifting his hand to rub the back of his neck. To hear those words from her, laid out so completely plain, had emotion welling up in his throat. He swallowed it down thickly and let out a laugh. “You know me, Pep, I surprise everybody.” She swatted his arm, still smiling, and he chuckled, but then he looked down as a six-year-old with neatly combed hair and a child sized sweater vest with slacks approached him, accompanied by a man in a suit and an earpiece. Tony had kept an eye on that man loosely, trying to figure out who he was guarding. He supposed he was about to find out.

“Hello, Mr Stark,” the kid said, holding out his hand, and Tony shook it gently. “My name is Harry Osborn. My dad couldn't come with me, but he wanted me to tell you thank you for inviting us.” He looked up at his bodyguard, before he shuffled his foot. “Peter's the only person that will talk to me in our class. He's my best friend.”

Tony's lips twitched, before he slapped on his press smile. “It's nice to meet you, Harry.”

The kid smiled brightly up at him, before he turned to push through the other kids and get back to the front, bodyguard on his heels. Peter saw him approaching and asked Ben to set him down, and they started talking excitedly. Tony frowned at the display, and when Pepper nudge him he looked at her, his displeasure obvious on his face.

“I'm pretty sure that child is the spawn of true evil,” he told her, and she just rolled his eyes. “His dad—”

“Shut up, Tony, and stop judging a six-year-old because you don't get along with his father,” she said, lacing her arm with his and urging him to walk behind the kids again.

“You've heard the things he's said about me—”

“Yes, I have, some things even you haven't heard. Everyone says those things about you, Tony. You're just upset because he's competition.” 

Tony huffed, annoyed because she was right and because she always saw right through him. He looked over as Steve was wading through the kids to get to them. “Hey, what're you two talking about?” he asked casually, putting his hands into the pockets of that leather jacket of his.

“Work—” he tried, right as she said, “Tony's ego.”

Steve just smiled. “Same ol' then,” he said, before he nodded back to the front of the group, which was heading into the building that kept the reptiles, amphibians and other tiny attractions. “C'mon, he was asking where you went.” 

Pepper waved a hand at him when he looked at her, bidding him to just go on, and he followed Steve into the building. The lighting was dimmed, and the walls and floor were black, except for animal prints in deep green. The children were pouring against the glass of the exhibits, all of them awed to see huge snakes up so close. Tony and Steve reached Peter right as he was having a conversation with Harry about the sleepy looking king cobra.

“Why doesn't he have the—the thing?” Harry asked, bringing his hands up to touch over his head like a hood.

“Because he's not mad,” Peter replied, his hands pressed to the glass and his nose almost touching it too.

“Oh,” Harry replied, looking disappointed by the answer.

Tony refused to find that adorable. No, nope, not from the son of his company's rival. He would be petty, thank you very much. He set his hands on Peter's shoulders, and the boy looked up at him, his face splitting into a grin. “Hey kid, having fun?” Peter nodded rapidly, turning to go to look at a tank full of huge fish and turtles. Tony kept his hand on his shoulder, squeezing it and pulling him against his side.

Steve came to his other side, and they moved through the building with their son and forty other kids with parents trailing after. Tony glanced back to see Clint, Natasha and Bruce all together, trying to find a camouflaged lizard. Natasha eventually touched the glass with one finger, and the two men let out 'oooh's. A little girl came up behind her and tugged on the tail end of her coat, and she turned to find her holding up a rectangular paper, or maybe a picture, he couldn't tell from a distance, and a marker. Natasha took it and signed it, smiling one of her rarer smiles when she handed it back. The little girl retreated to her friends, who crowded her.

The crocodile was lazily basking in the sun, and one kid asked if it was dead. Then it opened its mouth, and all the kids squealed. When the Komodo dragon abruptly raced past across its enclosure and then went stark still, there were some screams, but they were good screams. The small tanks with bugs made Tony wish they'd skipped the room, especially the huge sand roaches. He stuck his tongue out and made a gagging noise, and Peter patted his hand. The boy put his hand on the glass of a spider tank, watching the bird-eating tarantula walk slowly over the bark that made up the ground of its home.

Tony flipped down his sunglasses again when they left the building, the light briefly blinding him, before the group moved on to the primate and big cat enclosures. They went inside a cave to view the gorillas, and there was a glass container with different skulls in it, monkeys and apes and the evolution of the humans. Australopithecus, homo erectus, homo sapiens. 

“Dad,” Peter said, pulling on his shirt sleeve as he stared at the skulls.

“Yeah?”

“Why is there no homo superior?” He turned his big brown eyes up at him.

Tony blinked, at first wondering how in the world Peter knew that term and then being really proud of the boy for asking such an obscure question. “They have the same skulls as humans,” was the easy answer and the one he went with, even if it wasn't always true. Any other kind of answer required a longer conversation, and the group was already moving, preventing that.

Most of the animals in the zoo seemed perfectly happy to do absolutely nothing, mostly just lying around. The tigers, however, seemed interested in the kids and one of them walked right up to the glass in the cave. There were muddy streak marks on the glass where it had been pawed before, and the tiger didn't disappoint. It lifted on its back legs and scraped madly at the glass like a cat scratching a post. 

Tony was pretty sure this meant that the kids looked tasty.

The lions were lying on top of a perch, looking across the path that separated their enclosure with the antelopes. It must have been maddening to be within sight of natural food and unable to get to it.

The bird exhibit was pretty amazing. There was a dome called the Bird House where people could walk inside and be surrounded by parrots and similarly sized birds, able to feed them out of their hands. It could about an hour for everyone to make their way through it.

The owls were properly creepy, staring with their soulless eyes and turning their heads way too far around. The carrion birds were eating, pulling at the flesh of rodents. There was one vulture standing on the netting right above the path, tearing apart its meal in strips of flesh. 

Peter whispered a soft “Awesome” as they walked under it.

The group made way to the pavilion for cake, ice cream and presents. Peter very diligently said thank you to each person after he opened their present. He received a lot of current toys, and he didn't seem to care when he got a duplicate. It was to be expected from such a large crowd of gifters. He was super happy about anything Lego brand. And his eye lit up whenever a bag revealed a comic book.

Natasha's gift was a complete box set of James Bond movies, which Peter made a gasping squeak for. He was equally happy about Clint's Lord of the Rings Lego set. Bruce's gift was, very predictably, a child's chemistry set, though he had added his own instructions and chemicals for Peter to play with.

Tony and Steve's gift was a next generation gaming system that had yet to be released. Peter was the first to own this Stark Game Box, as well as ten games that Steve and Tony had picked out together. There was a mixture of intellectual puzzle and adventuring titles, including, of course, Pokemon and Legend of Zelda. Peter got up after he'd opened them all, running over to hug them both around the waists.

Uncle Ben was the last to give Peter a present. It was a small box, simply wrapped. He leaned in and kissed Peter's temple when he handed him the gift, bidding him a 'happy birthday, kiddo.' Peter pulled the the ribbon off and picked at the tape, sliding the box from its wrapper. Inside were a pair of glasses and a silver watch. He picked up the watch, looking it over, before he turned it and found an engraving.

“For R.P., my loving husband,” he read, before he looked up at Ben. “R.P.?” he asked.

“Richard Parker,” Ben replied.

“My...father?” Peter turned his eyes back down to the watch, rubbing his thumb over the face.

“Your mother gave that to him one their first anniversary. I thought it was about time to give it to you.” Ben put his arm around May's waist, pressing his lips together.

Tony and Steve looked at each other, sharing a similar expression. Peter's adoption was no secret, that was true, but this felt like a slight to Tony, something that demeaned their parentage. He knew that Ben and May would never do something like that out of malice, but that didn't stop the acidic anger from boiling in the back of his throat. He took a deep breath and let it out.

Peter picked up the glasses, which were huge and thick black frames, before he took off his own silver framed ones and put the new ones on. They dwarfed his face and made his big brown eyes look even bigger. He looked around for a moment, before a slow grin spread across his face. “I can see,” he announced.

“You look like a dork,” said a blond boy, before he gasped when Harry punched him in the arm.

“Shut up, Eugene,” Harry told him in a huff. The blond boy crossed his arms and looked away with a frown.

Peter didn't seem to care. Instead he put the too-big watch on his wrist and asked if it was time for cake yet. The upright Hulk cake was wheeled in front of him and he had to stand on his chair to blow out the number six candle on top of its head. Piece of green marble cake were passed out among the crowd of children and their parents. Bruce stared at his piece for a moment, his face unreadable, before he dug in.

The last surprise came in the form of a crack of lightning, and as there were sudden screams of surprise, Thor floated down into the mouth of the pavilion in a flurry of blond hair and red cape. Peter was the first to run over to him, and Thor picked him up in his huge arms and gave him a hug. “Greetings, young Peter,” the Thunderer said, ruffling his brown hair before he set him down. “And congratulations on your sixth date of birth.”

Every little kid wanted to talk to the demigod, and he eventually dropped his hammer onto the floor of the pavilion for the kids and even a few parents to try to pick up. “My thanks for inviting me to the celebration,” he said later to Tony after his fourth piece of cake.

“No problem,” Tony said, pointing at his own chin to indicate that Thor had a bit of green icing stuck to his jawline.

Thor wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “He is growing up to be a fine lad.”

“We think so too,” Steve said from Tony's side.

“It is to be expected,” Thor went on. “With parents the likes of you.”

Tony smiled into his punch cup, feeling embarrassed at all of the compliments his parenting ability was getting today. First Pepper and now Thor. It made himself strangely bashful and ridiculous. So he changed the subject. “Steve and I were almost sure that if you showed up, you'd have some baby Asgardian animal with you as a gift.”

“I had given it some thought, but many of the beasts from my home are not suited for Midgard.” 

“You're probably right about that,” Tony said, sounding almost relieved.

“You know,” Steve interjected, looking between the two of them. “Getting Peter a puppy wouldn't be a bad idea.”

“A puppy?” Tony asked, turning toward him completely.

“Every little boy deserves a puppy,” Steve told him with his trademark smile.

“Leave to you to bring up an archaic way of thinking,” Tony grumbled.

“A hound would make a good companion for young Peter,” Thor agreed.

Tony's lips pulled down at the corners. “We live in a tower. Sixty stories high, Steve.”

“There's a park literally across the street. It wouldn't be that different to ride the elevator down in the morning and take a dog for a walk. Where do you think I go for my run?” Steve shifted his weight on his feet, inching closer and tilting his head. “C'mon, Tony. Having a puppy will teach him responsibility and routine. Plus he'll have a friend for life.”

Tony tapped his finger against his punch glass, staring incredulously at Steve, who had the most gentle and warm smile ever. Finally he groaned and tipped his head back. “Fiiiine,” he said, before he sighed through his nose. “But wait until after he's started school. And it has to be a reasonably sized dog. An apartment isn't the place for a big dog.”

“Really? And here I was thinking we'd get him a Great Dane,” Steve said with a chuckle.

Tony mock-glared at him. “Are you getting him a dog, or are you getting him a pony?”

“Saint Bernard? Rottweiler? Putt Bull? Doberman?” 

“If you're looking to get him a body guard that doubles as transportation, was can always get him his own personal chauffeur,” Tony told him, and Steve only smiled wider.

“I was actually thinking a Golden Retriever or a Chocolate Lab,” he said, looking down and swirling his punch in his glass. “But mutts are good too. I was just going to take him to a shelter and let him pick.”

Tony's lips twitching up at one side. Of course he was going to take Peter to a shelter and let him get an unloved mixed breed puppy. That was just so _Steve_. It was yet another charming reason why he was married to him. “I bet if he gets a yellow dog, he'll name it Thor,” he said, lifting his punch glass to his mouth.

“Why would he name a hound after me?” Thor asked with his mouth full of cake.

“No reason,” Tony said, snickering into his drink.

The party was drawing to an end, and everyone started toward the exit. There was a swarm of blackbirds flying above them, having taken advantage of dropped food from the animal exhibits and crumbs of cake. Tony heard it before he felt it, a sudden 'plap!' next to his ear, and he looked at his shoulder to find two spots of brown ooze on his gray, long-sleeved shirt. 

“Aaaah, oh my God,” Tony said, looking like he was trying to recoil from his own shirt. He saw Steve cover his mouth, the edges of his eyes crinkling as he was trying not to laugh. There was goddamn shit on his shirt, and Steve was amused! Tony thought about threatening divorce papers, before he spotted the gift shop and made a bee line right for it. He didn't even care what animal was one the shirt he found—it ended up being a meerkat—just that he needed a shirt. 

Tony was so agitated that he got lost in his own shirt as he tugged it off, trying to avoid the bird crap getting in his hair. He felt Steve's sure hands unhook the hem of his shirt from his chin and ease it off, and he pulled on the other shirt immediately after, the light of his arc reactor shining through the thinner fabric. He took the ruined shirt and dropped it in the nearest trash bin, before he slapped a bill on the counter to pay. He didn't bother waiting for change.

The birds were lucky he didn't have his repulsor gauntlets on him at the moment.

###### 

On Sunday morning, Tony rolled over in bed and reached over for Steve. His hand met nothing but mattress, and he made a noise in his throat as he spread his fingers and opened an eye. “JARVIS,” he mumbled, half into his pillow. “Where is Steve? And what time is it?” He couldn't be bothered rolling over again to look at the clock on the bedside table.

“Mr Rogers is in the living room, and it is 9am, sir,” JARVIS told him, his volume turned down to accommodate Tony's sleepy state.

Tony took a deep breath and closed his eyes again, seriously pondering just going back to sleep. There was a dream he had been having, and he could probably chase it to finish it. Steve was probably reading a newspaper, letting him sleep since it took him so long to get to sleep in the first place. He ran his hand over the place where Steve slept. If he pressed closer, it would smell like his 2-n-1 shampoo and body wash, and that made him smile a little.

He opened his eyes completely, sighing against his pillow. Now that his brain was working, he would never fall back to sleep. It was already presenting plans for the next Mark of his suit. He pushed himself up, lifting his arms above his head and stretching until his lower back popped. He made a noise and rubbed it, before he forced himself out of bed and the room. 

Steve was on the couch, hunched over a paper and looking extremely disappointed, his face hardened into a frown. “Hey,” Tony said as he walked by him to the kitchen for the delicious mana of life that was coffee. “Peter still asleep?” He poured himself a cup, taking a sip and turning back toward Steve and leaning his butt into the counter. “What's up?” he asked, because Steve hadn't even looked at him yet. “Are the Giants losing?”

“Wrong season,” Steve finally said, before his tongue peeked out to wet his lips. He finally looked at Tony, and there was something on his face that could have been called betrayal. “We're in the paper.”

Tony's brows came together, before he strode into the living room as Steve folded the paper backwards so the story he was focusing on was on display. “We're always in the paper,” he remarked uncertainly, sitting don't next to Steve and taking the paper.

“Tony Stark and Steve Rogers Flaunt Gayness” said the headline of the story, and Tony immediately felt a sick twist in his stomach, but he kept reading. “Married homosexuals Stark and Rogers gave their adopted son, Peter, a public party at Central Park Zoo. Rogers helped Stark undress in the gift shop, exposing their lifestyle to innocent Kindergartners and outraged parents.” There was a black and white surveillance camera picture to accompany the words. It went on to outline how public he and Steve had made their relationship, as well as parent testimonials. All and all it was pointless slander that made white hot anger take grip of Tony's spine.

Also, homosexual? Was bisexual not scandalous enough?

He tossed down the paper and got up, pissed off energy rolling in him. He wanted to punch something, or several someones. It was lucky that Steve had taken away his coffee when he got up, or he might have thrown it for the stress relieving satisfaction of hearing the mug shatter and watching the coffee splash across the wall. “I'm going to sue the zoo,” he said through his teeth, before he stopped. “No, scratch that, I'm going to _buy_ the zoo! And I'm going to fire every fucking person in it and build robots to replace them!”

“Tony,” Steve said, his brows bowing.

“What, doesn't this piss you off? They mentioned Peter, Steve. They went _there_.”

Steve stood up and caught Tony as he paced by, pulling him into his arms. Tony wanted to push him away, too full of agitation for hugs, but Steve held him tight. “Of course I'm mad. I already beat a punching bag into nothingness over this. I'm so upset they brought our boy into it.”

Tony pressed his cheek against Steve's collarbone, letting out a puff of air. He couldn't believe this. This was the very kind of prejudice that he'd tried to convince Steve wasn't as prevalent as it had been in the 40s, but here it was to slap them both in the face again, just like on their wedding day. He curled his fingers into the back of Steve's shirt, gritting his teeth. “It's bullshit,” he growled.

Steve put his lips against Tony's hair, taking in a deep breath that expanded his broad chest and moved Tony with the strength of it. “What do we tell Peter?” he whispered.

Tony's eyes widened briefly, his breath hitching. Oh God, he didn't know. What could they possibly tell him? They'd managed to shelter him from such hatred so far, but he was going to be starting school again soon, and he was sure to come in contact with it there. “I don't—” he tried, before his throat locked up.

“We should probably just tell him the truth,” Steve said, and there was a confidence there.

Tony bit the inside of his lip, before he drew back his head and looked up at Steve's blue eyes. He didn't want to do that. He wanted to keep his son innocent and completely pure for as long as he could. He didn't want to expose him to the shit that was reality. It felt like control was slipping through his fingers like sand. “The truth sucks,” he said defiantly.

Steve just gave him a sad half-smile. “It often does,” he said, and Tony knew that was a lesson that he had learned himself the hard way. “The only thing we can do is be there for him when he needs us.”

Tony's brow furrowed, because he would always be there for his boy, no matter what. This, he supposed, was just one of those time when he couldn't affect the outcome. All he could do was watch as things fell in place around him. It hurt. But it would also hurt Peter. He needed to be there for him, to tell him that everything would be okay, that he loved him. He set his jaw. “Okay, let's tell him.” 

And they did. Peter didn't understand completely, but no one could expect a six-year-old to fully comprehend social issues such as these. He did, however, very strongly say that anyone that made fun of his dads were big ol' meanies. Tony and Steve agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Peter goes to elementary school. Steve wants to get him a puppy.
> 
> I'm having way too much fun writing this.


	5. Nothing Goes As Planned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Steve try their hardest to make Peter happy, but they keep failing.

During dinner, Peter was especially quiet, pushing his food around on his plate and looking solemn. Tony and Steve traded looks, communicating with their eyes their understanding of the boy's behavior. The next day was his first day of elementary school, and he was nervous. Peter pushed his big glasses up his nose and looked up. “Can I be excused?” he asked.

Steve reached over, setting his hand on his shoulder. “It'll be fine. You'll make plenty of friends on your first day, and you'll have lots of fun.”

“You're going to love your classes,” Tony added, and his boy looked at him, a bit owl-eyed. “Your new school has a wonderful science program.”

Peter just sucked his his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at it. He didn't really respond when Steve ruffled his fluffy brown hair. “Can I be excused?” he asked again, and Steve dropped his hand.

“Sure, kiddo,” Steve told him, and Peter got up, pushing his chair back in before he walked around the table and out of the dining room. Steve sighed and picked up his fork again, stabbing a piece of carrot. 

“Don't worry about him,” Tony said, staring after Peter and furrowing his brows. “He'll be fine this time tomorrow. He just needs to see his new school for himself.” Even as he said that, he can't hide the concern on his face. He wished there were magic words to ease his son's anxiety, but there weren't.

After dinner they moved into the living room, and they sat on the couch together, their thighs pressed flush. Steve watched some TV, and Tony went over reports for the latest Stark tablet. Apparently there were a few errors, but he wouldn't be able to fix that until he took one apart tomorrow and completely changed its hard and software. Pepper would complain the manufacturers would have to start over, and he would just smile sweetly at her.

“Is he asleep?” Tony asked softly later, standing in the hallway as Steve peeked into Peter's room. Steve nodded to him, and he let out a breath of relief. “C'mon,” he said, taking his hand and pulling him down the hall toward their bedroom. They changed in silence, peeling off their clothes and replacing them with sleep pants. Tony smiled when Steve kissed the back of his shoulder, before he walked around the bed and climbed onto his side.

He leaned against Steve's side, using his arm as a pillow and just gazing over the planes of his broad chest. He reached over, touching his dog tags and feeling the warm metal through his fingers. He ran the pads of his fingers over the texture of Steve's name on the face, smiling against his skin and tilting his eyes up at his face. He was watching him placidly, which made Tony bite his lip and tug on the chain. The answering grunt was all he could ask for.

“Are you sleepy?” he asked Steve.

“No,” was his answer.

“Do you know what we could do?” Tony asked him, his smile turning into something else entirely.

Steve adjusted, turning on his side and putting his other arm around Tony's middle. “I can think of a few things.” 

Tony didn't have to ask him to elaborate, because he put his lips to his ear and whispered, like it was something secret and naughty. His suggestion widened his smile into a grin, and he pressed their fronts more firmly together. “I think I can work with that.” His fingers curled around his dog tags, and he tugged him into a kiss, and Steve groaned because he loved when he did that.

###### 

“Dad... Dad!”

Tony's eyes opened slowly at the whisper yell, taking in everything as his brain rebooted. Steve's arm was heavy around his middle, and he had drooled a bit into his own pillow. The clock said half past three, and Peter was standing in front of him in his Fantastic Four pajamas. He lifted his head a little and wiped his cheek. “Hey, buddy, what's up? Can't sleep?”

Peter shook his head. “Bad dream.”

Tony felt Steve stir behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see his disheveled blond head lift up. When Steve saw Peter, he blinked sleepily, before he scooted back. Tony followed him, making room on the side of the bed for their son, and he lifted the covers up for him. Peter folded his glasses, putting them on the bedside table by the clock, before he climbed up onto the bed and cuddled against Tony's front. He put his smaller hand on the arc reactor as Tony wrapped his arm around him and pressed his lips to his hair.

“You're okay, little man,” he mumbled to him as Peter laid his head on Tony's bicep. Steve's arm came in beside his to hold the boy. “We've got you.”

Tony watched as Peter stared at the arc reactor, the glow of it reflected in his brown eyes. He rubbed his hand up and down the boy's back, listening to his breathing and the soft hum of the arc reactor. Steve's arm seemed to get heavier, and he felt his cheek smoosh against his back, a soft snore announcing that he was out. He kept his eyes on Peter's face as he gazed at his chest, and the boy's eyelids eventually drooped, his head leaning into his chest as his body went limp.

It was only after he felt his breathing even out and go deep that he closed his own eyes, content that both of the men in his life were sleeping peacefully.

###### 

Peter could barely eat his breakfast in the morning, because he was brimming with too much energy. Tony assumed that it was upsetting his stomach, and he longed to pick the boy up and just hug his agitation away, but he knew how that would go. Peter would say 'Daaaaaaaad' and struggle, because he wasn't a baby anymore. Sometimes Tony forgot that.

The ride to Midtown private elementary school felt like it took a long time, which the only noise being the sound of the traffic reports playing low on the radio of Happy's. Tony and Steve kept looking at each other over Peter's head, and the boy was fidgeting the whole way, toying with the straps on his backpack. After a bit Steve put his hand on Peter's head, rubbing his hair gently.

“It'll be okay, kid,” he said, and Peter looked up at him. “It's just school.”

“I know,” Peter said, though it sounded like to him school was the biggest and worst thing to be happening to him.

“We'll be right there waiting for you when it lets out too,” Tony assured him, and Peter's eyes turned to him.

“I know,” he said again in the very same voice.

Tony could only sigh softly through his nose and trade a concerned look with Steve again. When they arrived at the school, Happy opened the door for them, and Peter looked at the opening like it meant his doom. Steve climbed out, and Tony urged Peter out too, before he stood with him and looked at the face of the school. “See?” he said putting his hand on his shoulder and squeezing a little. “It's not that scary.”

Peter just hugged his backpack tighter and stared, watching all the kids being unleashed on the school. He was looking around like he was looking for someone, and he turned his head down the long line of cars. Abruptly he stepped forward, a smile spreading across his face as he spotted what he had been searching for. Tony looked and realized what had his excited. Harry Osborn was getting out of a car, the door being held by his own chauffeur. His father didn't seem to be present either. He spotted Peter and waved, smiling too.

“Okay, kiddo, we'll see you at four,” Tony said, before he leaned in and gave Peter a giant kiss on the cheek with a resounding 'mwah!'

Peter wriggled in his hands like a fish on a line. “Dad!” he shrieked, before he got away and rubbed vigorously at his cheek. He put his backpack on as he glared at them in horror, before he ran to meet Harry, no doubt detailing how much embarrassing his father was. 

Tony just smiled after him, and they watched him go inside before they got back into the car. Steve was giving him a look that very plainly said 'Why on Earth would you do that to our child?' and Tony laughed. “He's not scared anymore. Every kid has embarrassing parents. He doesn't have to feel different.”

Steve shook his head and caught his hand, lacing their fingers. “Did your dad do that?”

Tony's face took on a forced expression, and he looked out the window. “My father never took me to school. He was too busy.”

Steve squeezed his hand, and he looked at him, finding the very same expression he always saw when they talked about his father. The Howard Stark that Steve had known was an entirely different man than the one that had been Tony's father. Steve never knew what to say, but then what could actually be said? His father was dead, and there was no use thinking about it. Really. It didn't matter if it still hurt.

###### 

Four o-clock rolled around faster than Tony was expecting. Logically he knew the passing of time was the same no matter what, but he still could petulantly swear that hours ran away from him when he was working. He brought a fold of blue prints and plans with him on the way to pick up Peter, his face buried in the paper. He was so distracted he didn't even noticed something was wrong until Steve said something.

“Peter, what happened!” Steve gasped.

Tony looked up and nearly dropped his folder, his eyes widening at the boy, who was standing in the car door looking like he was holding back tears. He had a blooming bruise under his eye. He practically threw himself into the car, throwing his arms around Steve's waist and sobbing into his shirt.

“They called me a freak!” he wailed as Tony dropped his folder onto the seat and scooted closer to put his arm around him to join Steve's arms. “Because I have two dads!” The tears were free flowing now, soaking Steve's T-shirt, but he didn't seem to care about that.

“Oh, buddy, you're not a freak,” Steve told him gently, brushing his hair back. “Don't listen to them.”

“They're just assholes with nothing better to do than pick on somebody,” Tony said, and Steve immediately gave him a stern look. “What? It's true! There isn't really a better word for them.”

“There is. It's 'bully.' Bullies will always pick on the smaller guy, just because they can.” Steve got his hands under Peter's arms and pulled him up to sit in his lap. “I have a lot of experience with bullies, Peter. I got beat up a lot.”

“Before—before you became a Super Soldier, right?” Peter asked, rubbing one of his eyes with the heel of his hand, the one that wasn't bruised.

“Yeah,” Steve said as he pushed Peter's hair back gently. “But being big and strong doesn't stop bullies from wanting to beat me up. That's just how bullies are.”

“I used to have problems with bullies too,” Tony added, and Peter turned his eyes to him. “My smart mouth used to get me in all kinds of trouble. Still does.” He looked at Steve, who rolled his eyes. There were plenty of scuffles they'd been in that could have been avoided if Tony could just keep his mouth shut. “I tell you what, little man, bullies don't like it when you talk back to them, challenge them. It upsets the power differential.” It made Tony so proud that Peter nodded, completely understanding. It was really the best advice he could give.

###### 

The next day, Tony was stuck in a meeting with his company's engineers and about two dozen interns, unable to get out in time to go with Steve to pick up Peter. Steve didn't mind, because he knew how busy his husband got, especially when there's something wrong with whatever Stark Industries was trying to market at the time. Though he did feel weird when he was chauffeured around by himself. He never felt important, just ridiculous and incapable of getting around himself. He would rather ride his motorcycle, but there's no way he was putting his son on the back of that. Yet. He was going to wait a few years.

Peter practically ran into him when he got into the car, his arms encircling his waist and his forehead against his stomach. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, setting his hand on his hair. “I guess your day wasn't any better today, was it?” When Peter shook his head, he turned and moved him into the car, and once it was on the move he asked, “What happened?”

“I stood up to him like Dad told me to,” Peter said shrugging of his backpack and taking one of the straps in his hands, pulling at it. “But he just pushed me off the swing and kicked sand on me.”

Steve heaved a sigh, agreeing silently with Tony that these kids picking on his son were indeed _assholes._ He pulled Peter closer, his thumb tracing under the bruise on his cheekbones that had gone a kind of yellow as it healed. “I'll talk to your other dad, okay? It might be time for us to talk to these kids parents—”

“No, Dad, don't do that!” Peter cried, interrupting him. “They'll think I'm a tattletale, and they'll just beat me up more.”

“Peter,” Steve tried, but the boy was shaking his head furiously.

“Please, Daddy,” he sobbed, his bottom lip jutting out and his eyes misting.

It broke Steve's heart to see him like that and be unable to take away his pain. He held his arms out, and Peter climbed into his lap, welcoming him petting his hair. “Okay, we won't talk to their parents,” he said, resigned, and it wasn't like he could do much without Peter giving up names anyway. He was pretty sure that in being a parent, he wasn't supposed to feel this helpless.

All he wanted was to see his kid smile.

Something dawned on him, and he lifted his head from where it had been resting on top of Peter, bringing his hand up to bump the bottom of the boy's chin with his finger so he'll look up at him. “Hey, you know what? How about we go get you a puppy?”

Peter's eyes blew wide, and he drew in a dramatic gasp. “Really!?” he squeaked, and when Steve nodded, he started bouncing around on his knee and flailing his arms. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” he screamed happily, over and over and over. 

Steve laughed, putting his arms around him and pulling him against his chest. The kid was practically vibrating with excitement. “Okay, okay, calm down. Let me call your other dad and see if he wants to come with us.” He dug his cell phone out of his pocket, punching in Tony's private number and putting it to his ear. It rang five times before Tony's voice came on, telling him he was unavailable and to leave a message that wasn't boring. Steve rolled his eyes skyward, before he left a short message that he was taking Peter to a shelter for a puppy and to expect them in a couple hours.

“Happy,” he said as he hit the End button, and the driver looked at him through the rear view mirror. “Do you know of any animal shelters in the area?” he asked with a smile.

Happy bit his lip, before he grabbed the GPS off the dash and punched in something while they waited at a light. “I'm sure I can find one, Captain Rogers,” he said.

“Steve,” he reminded him, as he did every time, but Happy never listened. It was an endearing as it was frustrating.

Happy did find a shelter for them, and when he opened the door for them Peter burst out and ran to the entrance, as eager as Steve had ever seen him. He followed him in and smiled at a woman with a name tag. “Excuse me, ma'am,” he said, and she smiled brightly back. “We'd like to see your dogs, please.”

“Puppies, puppies, puppies!” Peter said, bouncing with Steve's hands on his shoulders.

“Right this way,” she told them, leading them through a door. Immediately the sound of barking filled Steve's ears, and there was the distinct smell of dog. It wasn't a bad smell though. He released Peter into the fray, and the boy ran to the first cage's fence, hooking his fingers through the metal. The dogs reared up against the fences, panting with their tongue sticking out.

Steve didn't recognize their breeds, and the papers hanging on the cages said just said 'mixed'. Peter let them lick his fingers before he moved on. And when he found a cage full of long-haired golden puppies, he squealed.

“First pet?” the shelter worker asked Steve, and he nodded. “Maybe I can help you pick out a good breed. What kind of home do you live in?”

“An apartment, but it's a really spacious one. There's a park right across the street where I'll take the dog every morning on my run.” Steve put his hands in his pockets as he watched his boy. He'd have Peter take the dog for a walk after school. Maybe he could get Tony to come with them, and they could walk as a family. He smiled a little at that.

“Well,” the woman said, lifting her hand to tap her chin. “There are lots of great dogs that do well in apartments. Bulldogs, terriers, corgis, Yorkies, dachshunds, chihuahuas. Or any mix of toy breeds.”

Steve turned his attention to her completely, his shoulders sagging a little. “I had been hoping for something bigger,” he said with a hopeful smile, his brows bowed. He honestly believed that boys needed dogs half the size of them as best friends. Tony had called it archaic, but he would say it was traditional.

The woman canted her head to the side. “Well, Labradors make pretty good apartment dogs if they get plenty of exercise outdoors.” 

“Oh, I plan on it,” Steve said, smiling wider at her. He had visions of playing fetch and Frisbee in the park, as well as the dog running back and forth between him and Peter as they tossed a baseball around. It was everything he had wanted as a child, and it was everything he believed Peter deserved.

The woman bit her lip and dropped her eyes, making Steve lift an eyebrow at her. “Um, if you don't mind me asking, you're Captain America, aren't you?”

Every time someone recognized him in his civvies, Steve was taken aback, because he didn't believe he was all that much outside of the stars and stripes. He shuffled his foot, the corner of his mouth pulling up. “Yeah.”

“I'm sorry, it's just—” The woman put her hand on his elbow gently. “You're just so amazing and—”

“Dad.” Steve felt a tug on his jacket and looked down, his eyes immediately widening as the woman uttered a horrified 'oh my God!' Peter's face was completely swollen up and red, the skin of his eyes folded into slits and tears pouring out the corners. Steve immediately picked up him up and ran out of the shelter to the car.

###### 

Tony's phone buzzed on the table, and he dropped his eyes from the speaker to it, noting Steve's name and face on the screen. Before when he had called, he assumed it was because he was taking Peter out for ice cream or to a movie or some other fatherly thing. Now he had no idea why he was calling. He watched his phone buzz to a stop, before he looked back up at the speaker and pretended that he was saying something interesting. Quarterly reports were what he read to put himself to sleep at night.

And then his phone buzzed again, Steve's face popping up again. Tony's brows drew together, because if Steve was calling him more than once, it must have been for some good reason. He dropped his legs from the table and grabbed his phone, standing up and putting his back to the meeting. “Steve,” he said as he answered. “I'm in a meeting, can—”

“Tony, it's Peter,” Steve said urgently, and Tony felt his stomach drop.

“What about Peter?” Tony said, turning around and shooting big, frantic eyes at Pepper. Her lips parted as her brows went up, before she made a shooing motion at him. He was out of the room in half a second. “What happened? Is he okay?”

“We're at the hospital—”

“What!” Tony said, now running to the elevator. He punched the button about ten times more than necessary. “What happened to him?”

“He had an allergic reaction—”

“Oh God, did he go into anaphylactic shock?” Tony practically jumped into the elevator, hitting the button for the garage level. He had all of these images running through his head about Peter's windpipe swelling up, Steve holding him as the ambulance's paramedics rushed in.

“Tony, let me talk!” he barked, putting a bit of Captain America behind it.

Tony swallowed hard, leaning against the wall of the elevator and hiding his face in his trembling hand. “Is he okay?” he asked again, softly this time.

“He's _fine_ ,” Steve said, and Tony felt tension leave his shoulders, his muscles a little sore from being held so tight. “We were at the animal shelter, and he had an allergic reaction. He swelled up, but it's gone down now that they've given him a shot. The doctor says he's allergic to dogs and probably all animal dander.”

“I'm on my way,” Tony said as he stepped out onto the garage level and digging his keys out of his pocket.

“Okay. He's about to have a prick test for any other allergies,” Steve seemed distracted as he said this, before there was shuffling. “I'm here, buddy, don't worry. It's not going to hurt. Your other dad's going to be here soon.”

As his Acura NSX chirped in greeting when he pushed the button, he honestly considered skipping the car all together and taking out the suit. But he—nor Peter—didn't need that in the news tomorrow. “Ten minutes,” he said into the phone, before he gave a hurried goodbye and hung up. His car gave a purring growl, before he peeled out of the garage.

He parked in the fire lane like a douche, but who gave a damn about getting a car towed when their kid was in pain? He hurried into the hospital and right up to the reception nurse. “Peter Parker” he said, as if that explained everything. He took a breath and tried again when she stared at him. “He came in with a severe allergic reaction.”

The nurse looked through her papers, folding some over the back of a clipboard, before she looked up at him again. “Are you a relative? His father's already with him.”

“I'm his other father,” Tony said immediately. “His adoptive father.”

She looked like she wanted to tell him he didn't have access for a moment, and he was about to yell at her not to fucking start with him, but she reached over and pressed a button that unlocked the doors the led to the exam rooms, telling him the number. And he hurriedly pushed through them. He was just freaking out about Peter, not everyone was trying to keep them apart. He just needed to breathe.

He found the right room and more or less burst in, and everyone looked at him. He didn't apologize, because there Peter was, shirtless as the doctor pressed needles into his back, with silent tears rolling down his cheeks. He went over, taking the hand that wasn't held between both of Steve's, before he cupped his cheek and kissed his forehead. 

The test results proved that Peter was indeed allergic to pet dander of both dogs and cats, and also he should never go anywhere near a horse. When the doctor left, Steve and Tony stood on either side of Peter.

“I really wanted a puppy,” Peter said softly, sounding defeated and miserable.

They both leaned into him. “I know, buddy,” Steve replied, his lips in his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't actually fade to black, I just put the porn [somewhere else](http://archiveofourown.org/works/655680) for those that want it.
> 
> Next chapter: everyone finally gets what they want.


	6. Problem and Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is going to have his dog. Tony makes sure of it.

If there was unexpected perk that neither Steve nor Tony had expected from parenthood, it was Saturday morning cartoons. Usually they sat on either side of Peter on the couch, their arms over the back of the couch and their fingers hooked together, all of them a little bit too invested in the goings on of these fictional characters. And usually Peter's eyes were bright and his glowing with wonderment.

This morning, however, Peter was curled up on his side on the couch by himself, having rejected Tony and Steve's offer to sit with him, his voice soft and sad. He was clutching his Batman plush to his chest and staring at the TV with a kind of crushed expression.

Tony and Steve looked on from the dining room, worry on their faces. No six-year-old should be so melancholy.

“Poor kid,” Steve eventually said, looking down at his feet as he leaned his butt against the counter. “Not being able to have a puppy has broken his heart.” He had a kind of expression that made Tony think it broke Steve's heart a little too.

Tony reached over and squeezed his elbow. “I've been thinking about that. We could get him a hypoallergenic puppy.”

“A what?”

“Some dogs have been bred to release significantly less allergens. I mean, he's severely allergic, so he'll probably need medication too, but it's something.” Tony looked back at Peter, who was not enjoying his favorite show, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, at all.

“How much does a dog like that cost?” Steve asked.

Tony just stared at him, because did that really matter? Steve tilted his head at him, and Tony rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “It depends, probably up to a couple thousand.” Steve's eyes went a little wide, and he dropped his arms, so Tony took his hand. “It's fine. I've been doing some reading about it. We'll have to be really choosy, but it's a possibility.”

Steve's eyes went toward the couch and he sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Yeah, but he doesn't get to pick out his own best friend like he should.” He pulled Tony's hand up so he could trail his fingertips over the back of his fingers.

Tony squeezed his hand. “I know, but at least it's an option.” And then his brain clicked, and he fought the urge to slap his hand over his eyes. “Or!” he said in a bright whisper, turning a big smile on Steve, who looked confused. “I could build him a dog.”

“A robot?” Steve said slowly.

“Think about it. A robot will never get sick, will be easy to teach commands, won't shed, and it'll stay adorable forever.” Tony was already assembling parts in his mind, and his fingers itched for his holoplans. He needed to get all of this down in his programs now.

Steve held onto his hand, keeping him from running off. “It's not really the same.”

Tony scoffed, pulling his hand away. “Robophobe.”

“What?” Steve asked, before he understood and pulled his brows together. “I'm not—”

Tony just stuck his tongue out at him. “Doing it, can't stop me!” He hurried out of the room, leaning over the back of the couch and ruffling Peter's hair. “Don't worry, kiddo, I've got an idea.” He turned and was down the hall before he heard Peter ask “What does he mean?” He could imagine Steve's sigh before he explained but that was another reason Tony had married him. Steve could translate his brilliance for everyone else.

He was buried in holoscreens of dogs and parts by the time Peter came into his workshop. “Dad,” he said, walking up to his desk and putting his hands on the edge to look at what he was working on. “Are you really making me a dog?” He turned his brown eyes, made huge by his big glasses, up at Tony.

Tony smiled at him. “Sure am, little man.” He caught him under the arms and pulled him up into his lap. “I'm building its brain right now, but I'm going to need your help with writing the software.” He kept one hand on Peter's shoulder before he reached up and organized his mess of screens a bit, bringing the ones with breeds down in front of them. “What kind of dog do you want?”

Peter adjusted in his lap, biting his lip and gazing up at the screens. “Can...” He tilted his head back to look at Tony's face. “Can we mix some together?”

Tony's mouth quirked up on one side. “I think we can do that. Which ones?”

Peter scooted onto Tony's knee, reaching up and poking a few breeds, highlighting them amongst the other. He picked the doberman, Labrador, beagle, pit bull and border collie. “JARVIS, can you mix these doggies together?” Tony smiled against the back of Peter's head, before he set his chin atop it and watched as JARVIS loaded up a mix of characteristics that made one silly looking dog. It was medium sized with a long wagging tail and big triangle ears atop its long-nosed head. Peter made a pleased noise and looked back at Tony again. “Can we make that one, Daddy?”

“Anything you want,” Tony said, and Peter's wide smile was a sight. 

Eventually they ended up on a tarp on the floor, sitting across from each other with parts all around them. Peter insisted on helping, and Tony was all the more happy to comply. He kept looking at his face, and seeing the joy of building a robot made his heart give the good kind of hurt. He loved doing things with his boy, but usually it was going to the movies or failing to compete with him at his video games. This was his element, and Peter was at home in it. That was special.

“These two go together, right?” Peter asked, holding two parts of a leg up, and when Tony nodded he set them back down and picked up a screwdriver, using both of his hands to turn it. He stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth when he concentrated. Dummy handed him another piece, and he smiled up at it, patting the metal hand.

Steve opened the door of the workroom and came in, giving a half smile at the display of the both of them circled by robot parts and splattered with grease. “Hey guys, you've been in here for hours. It's time for dinner.” Tony and Peter made the exact same noise, causing him to roll his eyes. “Aww nothin', up.” He pulled Peter onto his feet and turned him to the door. “Go wash up.” He watched him go before he turned to Tony. “And you.”

“What about me?” Tony asked as he got up and wiped his hands on his pants. 

Steve stepped over robo-doggy parts to get to him, catching the back of his neck and sliding their lips together. “You are the sweetest man I know.”

Tony snorted through his nose. “That is a damn lie. I have it on good authority that I'm a terrible person.” He lifted up on his toes to initiate another kiss, and Steve allowed it for a moment before he pulled back. “So you've come around to the idea of a robot dog?” He asked, leaning into his front.

“I did the moment I saw his face. You've made him so happy.”

“Well, it was your idea in the first place,” Tony said as he walked around the tarp to go to the door with Steve following him. “So you can have, like, 12% of the credit.” He heard Steve give a frustrated sigh, before he got whacked on the ass.  


###### 

Peter's bedtime came before the robo-doggy was complete, and he all but demanded that Tony not finish without him. Tony agreed and hugged him goodnight, staying behind as Peter went to let Steve tuck him into bed. Tony sat at his desk, continuing to write programming for the dog. He wanted it to behave like a normal animal, but then again he wanted it to be _better_. He can't really help it, because isn't that the point of technology, to approve on nature? He somehow resisted giving the robo-doggy the ability to talk, but it was going to be a very intelligent artificial life form.

Steve came in after a while and all but dragged him into their bedroom, insisting he take a shower because he smelled like grease and metal. Tony wanted to complain that Steve totally liked that smell, but Steve only retorted that he had stains under his eyes the made him look like a raccoon due to his welding goggles. Tony conceded once he looked in the mirror and jumped into the shower. After he was done and pulled on some sleep clothes, he climbed onto the bed and sprawled all over Steve. “Tell me a bedtime story,” he whined, all grins.

“Ah, you're all wet,” Steve complained, effectively rolling him onto his own side of the bed. 

“You love me,” Tony reminded him, scooting so his back was firmly pressed into Steve's side and he had about two-thirds of the bed for his sprawled legs.

Steve huffed and turned on his side, gathering him to his chest and wrapping his arms around him. “Unfortunately.” He kissed the back of Tony's ear, making him shiver. He leaned over Tony so he was pressing him partially into the mattress, one arm wrapped around him and the other finding his hand to lace their fingers. Tony enjoyed the solid weight of him against his back.

Tony dreamed about 101 spotted robo-puppies, of which Nick Fury wanted to make a plane out of. He was in the middle of telling him to stay the hell away from his doggies when he felt a tug on his arm. He opened his eyes, robo-puppies fading into the back of his mind, and he was face to face with Peter's huge brown eyes. He blinked before he looked at the clock, finding it was only seven in the morning. “What's up, little man?” he asked, the end of it broken on a yawn.

“Get up, Dad, let's go build my doggy.” He tugged on his arm again.

“Aw, Peter, it's Sunday,” he complained, mostly for the sake of complaining, because usually he slept until at least noon.

“Daaaaaad,” Peter whined, pulling on his arm and dragging him more toward the edge of the bed.

“Better do what he says,” Steve mumbled into his pillow, one of his arms still thrown over Tony's stomach.

Tony gave a martyr's sigh, before he pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Alright, alright, fine, I'll meet you in the shop.” Peter grinned and ran around the bed to the door. Tony sighed and looked at Steve, who was happily still spread on his stomach across the bed like he was claiming it in the name of America. He leaned over his to kiss him on the cheek, earning a pleased hum, before he pushed the covers off and got up.

In a couple hours they had the dog together and were testing its components, wires hanging out of places to ensure its toes moved, its eyes opened and followed movement and its tail wagged. It even panted, its mouth opening in a grin and a tongue of alloy hanging out. Tony held a tablet in his hands, pressing buttons to make the dog lift its paws one by one and then sit.

“What're you going to name him?” he asked Peter as he made the dog sit up on its back haunches. 

“It's a girl,” Peter replied immediately, and Tony looked at him in confusion. “She doesn't have a—a thing.” He looked like he was not going to be moved on this subject.

Tony just stared at him, before he blinked once. It hadn't even occurred to him to make the dog in any way anatomically correct for either gender. “Okay,” he said finally. “What're you going to name her then?”

“Pixie,” Peter replied, and when Tony didn't say anything, he added for clarification, “It's the name of a robot lady on my cartoon.”

“If you say so,” Tony said, because it was as good a name as any, and Peter smiled at him, before he leaned over his arm to get a look at his tablet. “We're almost ready to go,” he told him, before he pushed a button that made all of the wires release from the robot. “Want to do the honors?” He indicated to a button that would bring the dog's programming up live.

Peter took the tablet, going in front of the dog and kneeling. He stared at the robo-doggy like he was suddenly hesitant and didn't know what to expect, before he bit his bottom lip and tapped the button. The dog's eyes shimmered to life, irises bright blue lights. The dog and Peter gazed at each other for a moment, before Peter reached over and patted her head. “Hello, Pixie, I'm Peter.”

Pixie yapped, before she knocked Peter down, licking him over and over again on the face with her smooth tongue. He laughed, he _giggled_ , before he reached up and caught her around the neck, pulling her down on top of him. “I love you too, Pixie,” he said, softly.

Tony's chest tightened at the sight, and he couldn't help the smile that was stretching so wide across his face it hurt. He picked up the discarded tablet and set it on his desk. “C'mon, little man, let's go show your other father our invention.” Peter followed after him with Pixie at his side, his hand on her flank. They found Steve in the kitchen, drinking coffee, reading the paper and looking freshly showered. “Hey, look what we made,” he said, and Steve looked at them.

Tony stepped out of the way, and Peter stood proudly next to Pixie with her long wagging tail and tongue hanging over dull metal teeth. Steve just stared for a minute, and the robo-dog yipped, putting her head down with her front legs out in front, butt with swiftly swishing tail up in the air. She barked again, before she ran in a bounding circle and made for the couch, running around it with Peter chasing after her.

“Wow,” Steve finally said, before he tore his eyes away from the display and looked up at Tony. “It's so life-like.”

“She,” Tony pointed out, before he sat down at the dining table with Steve. “Her name is Pixie. And did you ever doubt me?” That earned a smile, one he returned. He felt he really accomplished something here, bringing another AI to life for their son. He'd given him a friend for life. That wasn't something a lot of people could claim.

And now that it was finished, God was he worn out. He slumped over the table and turned a pathetic expression on Steve. “Hey,” he said, and Steve hmm'ed in response. “Feed me.”

Steve smiled and folded up his paper, setting it on the table. “Oatmeal okay?”

“Perfect,” Tony replied, before he forced himself up and turned. “Hey, kid! Breakfast.” Or brunch. Who was counting? 

Peter came in with Pixie on his heels, and when he got up into his chair, she sat right next to him, her tail sweeping over the tile.  


###### 

Steve's eyes opened, swiveling toward the clock on the bedside table. 0600. Right, it was a weekday. On weekends he allowed himself the luxury of sleeping two hours longer. It used to be 0400 everyday, but he'd managed to condition his body in sleeping later now that he didn't have to be up for morning lineup. He shifted his eyes down again to Tony. He was faced away from him, his black hair fluffed in sleep. Steve pressed close, tightening his grip around his waist and breathing in the posh scent of his expensive shampoo.

He lifted up on his elbow and leaned over him to give him a kiss on the cheek. Tony shifted, turning on his back and opening his eyes partially. Steve lifted his brows, wondering if he was actually going to wake up early for once, before he mumbled “...power couplings need assessment...” and turned against Steve's chest, giving a snort. He was out again. Steve smiled at him, kissing him again, before he carefully got out of bed.

He silently changed into a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt, carrying his shoes in his hand and padding barefoot into the kitchen. He ate about a half dozen blueberry bagels with plenty of cream cheese and a pint of orange juice before he was ready to go for his run. Just a light breakfast.

Pixie came out of Peter's room when he walked by it toward the elevator, and he smiled at her. “Ready to run, girl?” he asked, and he tongue lolled out of her mouth as her tail picked up a swift wag. It had become routine in the weeks that Pixie had been part of the family. She came with him on his morning run and then stuck to Peter's side like glue when he was home from school.

One of the perks of having a robot dog was that she never tired, just as his stamina never failed while running. So they moment they were across the street and his boots hit the pavement of the sidewalk, they ran and didn't slow down. Well, they did when people got in front of them, wanting to get a look at Pixie. And when he told them that she was designed by Tony, they asked when robot dogs would be on the market. He was mostly sure that Tony had no plans of doing that, but he usually answered with a shrug.

When he and Pixie got back to the apartment, she went right back into Peter's room and he walked down the hall to his and Tony's room. He was hungry again, but he needed to get clean first. The shower was already running, so he opened the bathroom door, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it in the hamper. His sweats and underwear quickly followed them, before he pulled the glass door of the huge walk-in shower open and got inside.

Tony was just standing there, his face turned up against the spray and his eyes closed, probably to wash the sleepiness out. Steve set his hands on his hips, leaning into his back and putting his head under the water. “Morning,” he said, leaning his cheek against his shoulder. His eyes fluttered closed when Tony's hand came up and his fingers carded through his hair. His arms went around Tony's waist, and he held him close, just enjoying the feel of his skin against his.

Tony shifted, and he opened his eyes to watch him grab Steve's combination shampoo and body wash, turning in his arms as he squeezed some on his hand. It was the closest he could find to the brand he'd used in the 40s. Tony had only just managed to talk him out of using Brylcreem. He reached up and ran his fingers through Steve's short hair, lathering it up. The feel of his short nails scraping along his scalp made him shiver. Tony scratched through his hair until the shampoo was completely worked in, before he dragged his soapy hands down his chest, thumbs rolling over his nipples.

“Hey now,” Steve chastised in a soft voice, and Tony gave him a pearly white grin before he withdrew. He washed out his hair as Tony picked up his own shampoo and started soaping up his hair. “Are you ready for today?” he asked conversationally.

“What do you mean?” Tony asked, his back still to him.

Steve straightened up now that his hair was clean. “Parents Day at Peter's school.”

Tony jerked around to look at him, his eyes big. “That's today?” he hissed.

“Tony,” Steve rebuked. Seriously? He forgot?

Tony bonked his forehead against the wall of the shower. “Shit. I have meetings all day long.”

“Tony,” Steve said again, this time completely exasperated. He knew he was bad at keeping up with schedules and dates, and he shouldn't be surprised by this but he had at least expected that Tony _write it down._ Or he could have told Pepper, and she would never let him forget. Even if she was busy running the company, she kept him in line better than anyone else could.

“I know, I know,” Tony replied, bowing his head under the spray of water, his shoulders sagging. “I can try to get out of an afternoon meeting or two, but my hands are tied about this morning.” He turned his head and looked at Steve. “I'm trying to skip meetings without notice less. It means Pepper won't yell at me as much.”

Steve heaved a sigh, putting his arm around him and pulling him against his chest. It was true that Tony had been doing infinitely better about his responsibilities to his company lately. But in this case he almost wanted him to be irresponsible in that area so he could be responsible with his kid. But then he had a feeling Pepper would march into the school and drag him out by his ear. “You'll still have to tell him,” he told him, and at Tony's most pathetic look, he frowned. “No, Tony, I'm not telling him for you. You're an adult, you can face up to your own mistakes.”

“There are many people that would disagree with you,” Tony tried, but when Steve crossed his arms he relented. “Fine, send me to my own funeral.”

“That's not a nice thing to say about our son,” Steve said, turning off the water and opening the door to the shower to grab a towel. He tossed one to Tony as well. 

“I dunno,” Tony said as he stepped out, rubbing the towel vigorously through his hair. “You've seen his sad face. That's some world class heart breaking force right there. He could taken down the Hulk with a puffy bottom lip.”

“We'll have to remember that next time Bruce loses control.” Steve wrapped the towel around his waist and went to get dressed. 

When Peter was up and ready for school, Tony told him the news, and his face fell immediately. “You're not coming?” he asked, sagging in his chair with his breakfast half eaten and his hand going to lay across Pixie's head. “But you have to come. I wanted to show everyone my dads are Iron Man and Captain America.”

“I know, buddy, but I have a scheduling conflict,” Tony told him as he set his hand on his shoulder. “I've got to go pretend to listen to board members and engineers.”

Peter's expression could hurt anyone, and he looked down, his brows knotting together and his bottom lip quivering a little. “Okay, Daddy,” he said, resigned.

Tony looked at Steve, and he could read in his eyes that he was going to feel guilty all day while he was buried in the dealings of the company. He couldn't offer any words to soothe feelings for either of them. And it hurt him that now both of his fellas were wounded. 

Tony left before breakfast was done, and eventually Steve and Peter, with Pixie in tow, rode the elevator down to the garage sub-level where Happy was waiting for them. As they piled into the car, Steve felt a weight in his stomach. He knew it was absolutely silly to be worried about standing in front a classroom of Elementary kids when he'd given speeches the whole of the US had witnessed, but that was as Captain America. Steve Rogers was less than amazing.

He sat in the back of the classroom on one of the chairs in the line that had been set up for the parents, his hand on Pixie's head as she sat mostly under the chair between his legs. Parents on either side of him kept giving him looks, and he couldn't decide if it was because he was petting a robot dog or if it was because of who he was. It was probably both, he eventually decided.

Up at the head of the class was Harry Osborn, trying to unfurl a poster against the chalkboard. “My dad couldn't be here today,” he was saying, talking over his shoulder. “But right here I have a chart of all the things OsCorp is doing lately. My dad is making weapons for the army. And his bunches of genet—gena—his scientist doctors are working to cure diseases and cancer.” The top of the poster fell over his head.

“Booooring!” called one of the kids in the class, and several other kids laughed. The teacher immediately hushed them.

Harry rolled his posted back up and went back to his seat, which was right in front of Peter. The poor kid. In all the times Steve had seen him, he had never been with his father.

When it was Peter's turn to introduce his parents, Steve stood up and walked around to the front to stand with in front of a bunch of staring kids and parents. He suddenly wished he'd brought his shield. He put his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't fidget and took a deep breath through his nose. At ease, soldier.

“My dad is Captain America, the leader of the Avengers,” Peter said after a few moments, standing proudly with his fists on his hips. “But before he became an awesome super soldier, he was just a regular guy. He got bullied.” He turned his big brown eyes up to Steve's blue ones, his face splitting into a grin. “That's why I don't let bullies affect me. Because one day I'm gonna overcome it too in my way.”

Steve's lips parted. That was not what he'd expected him to say at all, but he was glad he did. He smiled and set his hand on Peter's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

Peter went on, snapping his fingers to Pixie so she heeled at his side. “My other dad couldn't be here today. But we built this robot doggy together. Her name is Pixie, and she's the best dog I could ask for. Other than making robots, my dad's company is working to spread clean energy over the world and—”

They heard it before they saw it, the rush of wind beating against the tall windows that made up one wall of the room. To accompany the sound, bright blue lights lowered from the top, and then came that ever recognizable red and gold. Kids and parents alike gasped, faces lighting up in wonder. Because Tony knew how to make one hell of an entrance. 

He knocked on one of the windows, and the teacher opened it for him so he could drop inside with a metallic thunk. His face plate came up, and he smiled sheepishly. “Sorry I'm late.” When he looked at Steve, he just gave him a look that communicated he was glad he was there but he was still not off the hook. He could almost hear Pepper screaming with outrage in the distance.

Peter jogged over to him, throwing his arms around his waist. “And this is my other dad. Billionaire. Genius. Inventor. Iron Man. He taught me that I can do anything, as long as I think through it.” He stepped back and took Tony's hand in his. “Also his repulsors are totally cool.”

He looked back at the awe-struck class, grinning from ear to ear. “I have the best dads ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Peter's a teenager and he likes a girl.


	7. Those Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's growing up into a mouthy brat, and Tony and Steve couldn't be more proud.

Tony's back smacked against the metal column, and he held his pistol to his chest as he breathed hard. He looked over at Steve, who was pinned down against some hay bales. They traded looks, and Tony was sure Steve was thinking the same thing he was. How had they thought this was a good idea? He peeked around his column and saw a black silhouette with red hair, and he jerked back behind it at the sight of the laser sight. He looked back over at Steve. “Do you see them?” he whisper-yelled at him.

Steve eased up to look over the bales, before he squatted back down quickly. “I saw Natasha, no sign of Clint.”

“What about Peter?” Tony asked, turning his pistol's barrel toward the ground and cupping his hand with his other.

“Nothing. The kid's got experience on his side here,” Steve said, getting up onto his feet and hunching over so he could jump and somersault behind some barrels. There was the familiar 'pew pew!' of fire after him, but his vest was placidly dark and quiet.

“Ain't that the truth,” Tony breathed. 

They should have predicted that this would be the outcome, seeing as Peter had been playing laser tag with Harry Osborn at least one weekend every month every since he was eight. But no, now two years later, he had turned big brown eyes up at them so helplessly, and Tony had immediately suggested he have Natasha and Clint on his side. It had been to level the playing field. But now he realized that Peter hadn't needed the help at all. In face he seemed to be using them in some master plan.

The kid was scary good at this. Five rounds in, and Peter's team always won.

He watched Steve dash to one side out of his view, heard the exchange of fire and then Clint's 'aw crap.' He smiled. One master assassin to go. Then they would hunt down their son. He was determined in win this time. He ran out from behind the column, immediately spotting Natasha with her pistol raised, and he hit the floor, rolling against a wall of hay bales. He tipped his head back and saw Steve. Natasha bounded over the wall he was against, doing a very acrobatic flip with her pistol pointed down.

Steve didn't see her in time, and his vest lit up like the fourth of July. Tony rolled to his feet, firing at her as she landed like a cat. She turned and raised her gun just in time to get shot in the chest. “Damn,” she said, before she holstered her gun. “Good luck.” She sauntered off with a smile that didn't exactly put him at ease. But then neither did Steve's expression.

“Up to you now, soldier,” Steve said as he gave him a little salute and walked off the playing field to join Natasha and Clint.

“Great,” Tony mumbled, putting his back against the hay bales. Now he had to go and search out his frighteningly quiet son all by himself. He took a deep breath through his nose, before he started moving, keeping his shoulder against the bales. He came around the corner, his pistol held steadily in front of him, but there was nothing to shoot at. He kept moving, darting his eyes from side to side and keeping himself low to the ground.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eyes and turned, firing, but all he hit was air. “Trigger happy,” he whispers, before he sidesteps quickly and puts his back to another column. He could tell his son was toying with him, and he felt a mixture of pride and annoyance. “Come on out, little man,” he says, soft as a breath, before he leaped out and skidding behind another wall of barrels.

He saw a flash of movement, rushing behind another obstacle, and he hurried after it. He put his back to the other side of the wall he saw him run behind, his hand slowly sliding around to grip the corner. He counted to three in his head, before he jerked around the wall and held up his pistol. Immediately his breath hitched. “Pixie,” he said, because there the dog was, sitting and happily wagging her tail. There was a smugness in her tongue hanging grin.

Tony's vest lit up with bright red lights, and he dropped his arms, turning around to find his all too proud kid. Peter holstered his gun and walked up to him, snapping his fingers for Pixie to come to him. “I beat you again, Dad,” he said, putting his hands on his hips and smiling big.

“So you did,” Tony said, putting up his own laser gun and reaching over to ruffle Peter's hair. He somehow didn't mind the fact that he just got his ass handed to him by a ten-year-old.

Peter giggled and stepped back, adjusting his glasses and smoothing out his hair. “Maybe I should be an Avenger too.”

Tony cracked a smile. “Yeah, kid, we'll see about that.”

###### 

The moments that Steve and Tony have together had become more rare. Usually Tony was dealing with his company or chasing another improvement to his suit. Steve had to deal with the press as the head of the Avengers, and Pepper often scheduled him and a few of the others interviews and press junctions. It was the most awful when one of them had to leave the country. Just recently Tony had been to China for a week to deal with a subsidiary that had been being unfair to its workers.

But today they had the apartment to themselves. Peter was at school, and they were left alone to flop on the couch and watch episodes of TV shows that had been sitting on their DVR for far too long. They were sitting on the couch. Well, Tony was splayed over the whole thing, resting his head on Steve's chest. When they finished the episode of Supernatural—their guilty pleasure, shh, don't tell anyone—Tony lifted the remote to go to the next one.

“Ah shit,” Tony complained when there was no next one to go to. “We have to wait a whole three days, boo!” He flailed a bit over Steve's lap, throwing a lazy tantrum. “I hate waiting for anything.”

Steve just chuckled at him, his hand going to his hair to card through it. “Heaven forbid you have to be patient,” he said said, scraping his short nails along his scalp.

Tony could have purred. He wiggled in Steve's lap, before he sat up, pressed his hand into the couch to support him on the other side of Steve so he made a bridge. “You know me,” he said, leaning in to press his lips to Steve's throat and scratch his goatee along his skin. “I'm used to getting what I want immediately.” He caught a bit of his skin between his teeth and was rewarded with a hitched breath.

He felt desire welling up in him as heat pooling in his stomach, and he scooted completely into Steve's lap so he could wrap his arms around his neck, dig his fingers into his hair and pull him into a hard kiss. Steve's arms came around him as he licked into his mouth, one going around his shoulders as his other broad hand spread across Tony's butt. It made his lips quirk up at the edge, and he baited Steve's tongue into his mouth so his could suck on it hard, making him groan deep in his chest.

Steve held him tighter, and that was exactly what he wanted. He loved feeling his strength, his hardness, all of that serum enhanced power that he kept in check and hid behind calculated gentleness. He wanted him to push him down against the cushions of the couch, hold him there in his strong grasp and make him—

“Oh my God, really? Are you guys seriously doing that?”

Steve and Tony pulled apart in surprise, with Steve practically dropping Tony like he was on fire, and they both looked over the back of the couch. Standing there in the entryway with one hand over his eyes and the other holding his skateboard was Peter, the most embarrassed sixteen-year-old on the planet. What were parents for if not to mentally scar their children?

Tony realized he was still sitting on Steve and maneuvered off to sit next to him and throw his arm over the back of the couch. Peter kept his hand up between them and his eyes, just in case they spontaneous started sucking face again, and walked into the kitchen to open the fridge. “So how was school?” Tony asked him.

Peter heaved a sigh, and Tony knew they were in for an earful. “Oh, y'know, nothing out of the ordinary. Got knocked off my skateboard the moment I got to school, nearly broke my camera by landing on it.” He pulled a can of soda out of the fridge along with ingredients for a sandwich, setting all of it on the dining table. He's got one foot on his skateboard, rolling it idly back and forth. “Got shoved into a locker that wasn't even mine!” He slathered mayo on a slice of bread. “On the other hand, I broke the curve on the advanced physics test.”

“That's my boy,” Tony says, putting his chin on his arm as he watched him, waiting for him to go on.

Peter let out a bark-like laugh. “Yeah, except now everyone in that class hates me.” He wrapped his sandwich in a paper towel, putting the unused ingredients up and knocking the fridge closed with his foot. “And after a day of hell, I come home to see you two making out like teenagers. Aren't you both too _old_ for that?” he said as he passed the couch with food in hand, heading for his room.

“Old!” Tony wailed in indignation. Steve chuckled next to him. “We are not old!”

“Yeah, you are. You're like a hundred!” Peter shouted back, before he shut his door behind him.

Tony floundered for something to say. “Well—you—Go to your room!” he finally managed.

“I'm already in my room!” came Peter's muffled shout through his door.

“Yeah, well, stay in there!” Tony shouted back, before he flopped back on the couch completely, his head in Steve's lap. He seethed, crossing his arms and glaring at the ceiling past Steve's lovely face with that soft smile. “I'm not old,” he said, more comfortable in sounding like a little kid.

“Of course not,” Steve told him gently, petting his hair.

###### 

Tony tapped his foot to the beat of his music, guitars screaming through the workshop and drums rolling like thunder. He had his goggles on, welding an elbow joint of his suit, his lips moving along to the words of Led Zeppelin's _Immigrant Song_. This song always reminded him of Thor, for obvious reasons, when it mentioned the Hammer of the Gods and Valhalla. It brought memories into his mind of the times the Avengers had visited Asgard.

Those were good times. Thor had even let him study the bifrost technology, and yes, he was going to insist it was technology no matter how much Thor claimed it was magic. All he needed to do was figure out how it worked and he could replicate it. Yup, good times. You know, except for Loki and the frost giants, but anyway.

His stomach tightened and made a gurgling noise, and he lifted his soldering iron away from his suit part, turning it off and pulling his goggles off. Was it food time? He glanced around his workshop, before he remembered that he didn't have a clock in there for a reason, because he hated clocks measuring his insomnia. He turned his chair and headed for the door, patting his stomach. It was probably food time. And if it wasn't then it should be.

He walked down the hall and into the kitchen, stopping in the archway to tilt his head when he saw Steve. He was digging through one of the drawers of utensils, and Tony could even tell from the back that he was agitated. He walked up behind him. “Lose something there, Cap?” he asked, one brown brow cocked.

“I can't find a can opener,” Steve replied, closing that drawer and moving on to the next one.

Tony's other brow went up, before he stepped around him. Steve looked at him right as he set his hand on the electric can opener. Steve stared for a moment, before he straightened up and rubbed his eyes. 

“Shut up,” he said, before he picked up the can that needed opening.

“I didn't say a word,” Tony said, privately smiling as he leaned against his husband's side. Sometimes Steve just forgot what century he was in, and that was fine. He'd long gotten over the fact that Steve didn't trust the microwave. 

When Peter came to dinner, Pixie on his heels, Steve tilted his head at him. “Is that a chain on your trousers?” he asked, pointing at it with his fork.

“Dad,” Peter said with a sigh, before he pulled it out. “It's connected to my wallet, see?”

Steve just kind of narrowed his eyes at it, before he shook his head when Peter sat down. “I still don't see why.”

“Because it's cool or something, right?” Tony volunteered, before he smiled as Peter rolled his eyes. The loved embarrassing the poor kid.

“The two of you, I swear.” Peter picked up his fork, stabbing a meatball and shoving the whole thing in his mouth.

“We're just messing with you, kiddo. I get it. You have to keep up with current trends. Gotta stay cool, attract a pretty girl—” He stopped when Peter's eyes dropped to his plate and he busied himself with pushing his spaghetti around. “Peter?”

“Do you like a girl?” Steve asked, and Peter hunched his shoulders, trying to get smaller.

“He likes a girl!” Tony practically shouted, and Peter dropped his fork to cover his face with his hands, fingers pushing up his glasses, when they both went 'aww' in unison. He mumbled something, but it was completely muffled. “What's that?”

“Yes, I like a girl,” Peter said, sagging down and tossing his head over the back of the chair. “You happy?”

“What's her name?” Steve queried, setting down his fork to put his elbows on the table and laced his hands together.

“Gwen,” Peter reluctantly replied, turning his eyes to Pixie, who was sitting beside him and soundlessly panting with her tongue hanging out.

“What's her birthday, address and social security number?” Tony asked, and Peter gave him a weird look. “For the background check.”

Peter stared at him, before he replied, simply, “No.” He set his hand on Pixie's head, patting.

“You're no fun,” Tony complained, and he felt Steve's socked foot cover his. He looked at him before he sighed and gave in. “Okay, so tell us about her. What does she look like? Do you have a picture?”

Peter bit his lip, before he dug into his pocket and pulled out his Stark phone, navigating the screen until he brought up the pictures. He handed over the phone, and Tony's eyebrows went up. She was a very pretty blonde girl. Peter had caught her while she was laughing, looking somewhere off camera and pushing her long bangs behind her ear.

“Nice candid,” Tony said with a smile, before he tilted his head toward Peter. “You're not stalking this girl, right? You've actually talked to her?”

Peter's cheeks flared red for the first time, and he drew his shoulders up again. “I've talked to her!” His eyes slid to the side, and he added in a mumble, “Once or twice.”

Tony just chuckled, before he turned the screen toward Steve and reached over the table so he could see. “Look, a hot blonde, he takes after me.”

Steve, resident hot blond, laughed at that, before he took the phone so he could get a better look. “She's very pretty, Peter,” Steve told him as he handed the phone back. “What's she like?”

Peter hit the lock button on his phone before he shoved it back into his pocket, and a little wistful smile played along his lips. “Well, she's in like four of my classes. She's super smart. She's on the debate team. She interns at OsCorp's science division—”

“What!” Tony interrupted. “I think I hate her.”

“Dad,” Peter tried to say, but he was already shaking his head obstinately. 

“Nope, she's quite possibly the devil. Again with OsCorp. It's not enough that you're best friends with the son of my nemesis, now you want to date someone that works for him. What's next, are you going to—ow!” Tony stopped, leaning over and rubbing his shin where Steve had kicked him, gentle for a super soldier but it still hurt. “I'm just kidding, date who you want,” he whined, putting his forehead against the table.

“You should invite her over for dinner sometime,” Steve suggested as Tony sat up, and Peter had such a look of horror on his face like that was the absolute worst thing that he could ever do.

“I haven't—she doesn't—guh,” Peter hid his face again, blushing so hard his ear were red. “Can we change the subject please?”

Tony looked at Steve, who bowed his brows, and he sighed, reaching over to pat Peter's shoulder. “Sure, we'll leave you and your girlfriend alone for now.” Peter made a sobbing noise, which made him grin, so he ruffled his mess of brown hair.

Peter slapped halfheartedly at his hands, before he picked up his fork and jabbed it playfully at him. He was smiling, so he couldn't be that terribly embarrassed. “So, it's you guys' anniversary this weekend.”

Steve put his his chin on his hands, gazing across the table at his husband and smiling slowly. “Eighteen years,” he said, the words drifting on a sigh.

Tony put his elbow on the table, leaning his chin on his palm and smiling all crooked and silly. “It doesn't feel real almost. It's been one hell of a ride so far.” That made Steve smile wider, setting his arm on the table and reaching across, and Tony caught his hand, curling his fingers around his.

Peter made a gagging noise, and they looked over to find him making a very dramatic and overboard disgusted face. “I'm trying to eat here.” He jerked to the side when Tony picked up a roll and tossed it at him. Pixie stumbled over herself to go get it and bring it back, so that Peter could put it on the edge of the table. “Aaaaanyway, I was thinking I would go to Uncle Ben and Aunt May's tonight after dinner.”

“Why not tomorrow?” Steve asked as he squeezed Tony's fingers before he finally let go.

Peter pushed a meatball around on his plate as he shrugged one shoulder. “I dunno. I figured you guys would want the whole both days together, you know, in case you wanted to do breakfast in bed or something.” He cut the meatball in half and stabbed part of it to stick in his mouth, his eyes darting between both of his dads. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Steve looked at Tony, who shrugged, before he regarded Peter again. “That's very sweet of you, son.”

After Peter left, Steve and Tony looked at each other, both of their expression saying 'Now what?' Heaving a sigh, Tony leaned into him, reaching around his waist and and taking hold of his own wrist as he leaning his cheek against his shoulder. “Eighteen years,” he muttered as Steve's arms came around him, breathing into his hair. “Goddamn. What should we do?”

“I haven't thought of anything,” Steve admitted, his strong hand rubbing up and down along Tony's back.

Tony made a soft noise, closing his eyes. “Neither have I.” He opened his eyes again and tipped his face up to look at Steve. “I guess we should go to our mutual thinking spots and hash it out.” He earned a kiss for his words, and he set his hand on the side of Steve's face, gently caressing with his fingertips. 

“You'll lose track of time,” Steve said as he drew back.

“Will not.”

“Will too.”

“Maybe,” Tony admitted with a roll of his eyes, before he disengaged and started down the hall to his workroom. “If I do, you'll just have to come get me and drag me to bed.” 

“Like every other night?” Steve asked after him.

Tony just put his fingers in his ears. “Can't hear you, lalala!”

Eighteen years. Tony plopped down at his work bench, pulling his goggles on and picking up the soldering iron again. Damn, had it really been that long since he and Steve got married? Sparks flew under his fingers, and with his other hand he punched in a command on one of the holo screens. The time had flown by, especially after they adopted Peter and had to attend to him every minute. 

Nobody had ever called him a nostalgic, but when it came to his husband and son, well. He lifted his soldering iron away from the metal and looked over at the strip of photo booth pictures pinned to his desk's backboard. It was him, Steve and an eight-year-old Peter, one of his front teeth missing. They were smiling, then silly faces, cheeks puffed and tongues out, then monster faces, all teeth bared and zombie eyes, then Steve and Tony kissing with Peter gagging under their chins. He smiled fondly at the memory of them all at the state faire, eating bad food and going on dodgy rides.

Now, on his and Steve's anniversary, he was drawing blanks on what they should do. He dropped his soldering iron to the bench and lifted his goggles to rub his eyes. Should he get him something? They had stopped doing gifts a few years ago, when they had both admitted that they had no idea what to get each other. Was it right to start again? If so, what the hell could he get him on such short notice? He'd gotten him a super powered and personally altered motorcycle for his birthday, which Steve had fallen over his self to get to. How could he top that?

If he really put his mind to it, he could build something for him, but he would end up spending both days of the weekend in his workroom. He sighed and pocked the arm joint of his suit. He couldn't concentrate on work with this on his mind. He should have had a brilliant epiphany by now, dammit. Should they renew their vows? That felt more like a twenty, thirty, fifty year anniversary thing. Eighteen was such an awkward, stupid number.

Finally he gave up and spun his chair around in a circle before getting up, dropping his goggles on the bench and heading to the door. He dropped by the kitchen for a bottle of water, before he headed to the elevator to ride down one level to the gym, which encompassed a whole floor. He stepped out and glanced around for Steve, finding him at the punching bags. He was concentrating on his one, two, one, two and didn't see Tony come in, so Tony moved behind him, leaning against the wall and drinking his water as he watched those perfect muscles ripple.

He watched the expanse of his broad back, his shoulders bulging and then releasing, and his muscles straining down his back to his narrow waist. And his butt, whoo, _goddamn_ that was a butt that still made Tony stare. He knew those two solid globes of flesh, liked to grab hold of them firmly when Steve was rocking against him. And he knew that if he smacked it, his hand would hurt and the impact would reverberate up his arm. He made a soft noise kind of like a purr as he watched it move.

Steve eventually stopped, stepping back from the punching back and wiping his forehead with his arm as he turned. He spotted Tony and looked surprised, before he started unwrapping his hands. “Tony, how long have you been there?”

“I don't even know, I lost track of time,” Tony replied with a predatory smile. 

Steve huffed, a smile lifting the side of his mouth. “What were you even doing? Watching me?” He balled up the hand wraps in his palms, turning toward his duffel bag to drop them inside.

“Oh yeah, I could watch that ass bounce all day,” Tony said approaching him and offering the bottle of water, and Steve snorted before he drank the rest of it in two big swallows.

“Well,” Steve began as he wiped his lips with the the back of his hand then crushed the bottle and tossed it at the bin by the door. “I hate to interrupt your show, but I'm going to do push-ups now. Not much butt action there.” He turned, going to the mat on the floor and dropping to his knees to get into position.

Tony's lips pulled to the side, because boo, he wanted to watched that butt some more, but then a sudden and amazing thought came into his mind and he hurried up to him. “Wait,” he said, and Steve turned his head to look at him as he lifted on his toes and hands. “There's something I've always wanted to do, but I always forget.” Steve parted his lips as if to ask what, but Tony was already climbing on top of him, back to back with his legs crossed over the backs of Steve's. He folded his hands over his stomach. “Continue.”

Steve hesitated for a minute, before he took in a breath and started his routine, lowering and raising himself. Tony watched the ceiling, feeling a strange thrill roll through him at the feeling of pure red-blooded strength underneath him. It was better than the roar of a powerful engine of a car, and it was a different kind of strength than he felt in his suit. 

But at the same time it was kind of silly, him riding his husband as he did push ups. He pressed his lips together, but a smile broke through them anyway, and he covered his mouth and chuckles came through. Steve hesitated a moment, turning his head and his ear to him, before he kept going. But now that the giggle bug had caught Tony, he couldn't stop, and he was shaking with laughter now. And when he snorted, Steve lowered himself to the ground and covered his head with his arms, beginning to laugh himself.

“You are the most ridiculous person I know,” Steve gasped between chuckles.

Tony rolled over on top over him, pressing his mouth to the back of his neck and peppering kisses along the short hairs there. “You love me.”

“Always,” Steve murmured on a laugh.

They showered lazily together, both of them worn out after the long day of working on their own projects. Tony held Steve around the middle as the hot water beat down on them, nosing up under his chin. Steve sank his fingers into his hair, leaning his head back so he could kiss him gently.

Afterward Steve pretty much fell onto the bed like a sack of potatoes and was asleep immediately. Tony wished he could do that, shut off his brain and just pass out like that. But no, he could already feel it. His mind was coming to life again.

Calculations danced behind his eyelids, and the bright blue of holo designs lit up across his corneas. Tony groaned and pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes, pressing down hard so the numbers and the projections blurred red and then white. When he opened his eyes, spots danced in his vision, and he groaned in irritation. He'd been trying to sleep, unsuccessfully, for an hour now, and while he'd accomplished building a better integration for his repulsor wires up his arms, he was no where nearer dreamland that he had been when he had trudged out of his workroom. 

He turned over on his side, facing Steve, who had his back to him and was completely out. He got his hand under the covers and lifted them up so he could scoot up against him, pressing his front flush against his back. Steve's breathing change, and he grunted softly, but he showed so actual signs of waking up. Tony breathed against his neck, nuzzling the short blond hairs on the back of his neck. He was so warm, and it made him shiver.

“Steve,” he said softly against his skin, because he had another plan, and it was not sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fade to black? Nope. I wrote that porn alright. Read it [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/670794)
> 
> Next chapter: It's Steve and Tony's anniversary. What will they do?


	8. All These Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is Tony and Steve's 18th Anniversary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eesh! I'm sorry it took so long to write this chapter. I met some serious writer's block and had to bang my head against it.
> 
> I'll try to get the next chapter out fast to make up for it.

Tony was dreaming, or at least felt like he had been, but he immediately forgot all the details when he felt a gentle hand run through his hair. He opened his eyes slowly, wondering if he had been dreaming about zombies, and looked up to see Steve's smiling face. His eyes were gentle, and Tony knew if he were to have to survive a zombie apocalypse, it would be with this man. Also he needed to get more titanium sheet metal some time. All the parts of his brain were clicking on at the same time.

He smiled lazily, dropping his eyes to the tray Steve was holding in his hand. He could smell the sugar coming off the mountain of French toast. “Breakfast in bed?” he asks, finally pushing himself up onto his elbow.

“It was a good suggestion,” Steve said, before he put his knee on the mattress and made a gesture with his hand. “Scoot.” When Tony did so, giving him room and leaning against the headboard, he pulled the covers out and got under them, putting the tray in his lap.

Tony snuggled up against his side, pressing his lips against his shoulder and looking up at his face. “Y'know,” he said as his finger trailing down Steve's side to play along the hem of his sleep pants. “I'm still naked from you tearing off my clothes last night. That doesn't seem fair.” He dipped his finger inside, touching blond curls.

Steve took his hand, pulling it away from his pants and pressing a fork against his palm. “Eat. We can talk about your state of dress later.” Still a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, and Tony knew he could probably get away with shoving his hand in his pants if he really wanted to. But then the food would get cold, and he could tell that Steve had put some effort into it. As he shoved a forkful of gooey sugar bread into his mouth, Steve put his arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. “Did you sleep well?”

Tony nodded and said around a mouthful, “I always sleep well when you pound me into the mattress.” He tilted his head up and smiled big with one cheek bulged, and Steve couldn't look at him without succumbing to chuckles. “What about you?”

“Fine,” Steve replies, leaning his nose against his hair and nuzzling.

They ate in comfortable silence after that, with Tony leaning against Steve's side and appreciating the way he breathed. They fought over the last bit, their forks scraping over the plate and tangling. Tony managed to stab it and pull it away, with a pouty little 'aww' from Steve. He made like he was going to eat it, giving him a sideline glance, before he just smiled and offered it to Steve, who happily ate it off his fork.

Steve set the tray aside, and Tony settled back against him, letting out a contented sigh as Steve's fingers ran through the white hairs at his temple. He had been dyeing them for years, vain enough to think that looking old meant unattractive. But when he had missed a session with the dye, too busy with a project and Steve got a good look at them, he had smiled and told him that it made him look distinguished. Then he had bent him over his desk in the workshop, because apparently distinguished equaled sexy. That was the end of coloring for him.

He ran his fingers over Steve's left hand, which was laying over his stomach, the pads alighting on his ring. He pulled the hand up so he could twist it. It was a gold titanium alloy, just like his suit, and he had crafted it himself. He had actually wanted to use vibranium, but T'challa had very politely refused. He didn't blame him, of course, because he probably also would have used the metal in other experiments. He was predictable like that.

He tilted his head up to meet Steve's eyes and let a smile cross his face. “Happy anniversary, beautiful.”

Steve smiled back, leaning in to nose his cheek. “Happy anniversary,” he said, before he caught his lips in a kiss. It was a simple one and somehow the best. After they parted, he trailed his lips up to Tony's forehead. “What should we do?” he asked, and Tony just shrugged lazily, content to stay in bed and run his hands over Steve's body all day. “Do you want to go on my morning run with me?”

“Not even remotely,” Tony said, slouching even more somehow and grinning as Steve sighed.

“C'mon,” Steve said, putting on his sweet convincing voice. “We'll work off all the sugar we just ate.” To that Tony only groaned, pulling the covers under his chin and sliding off Steve's side to lie back down. Steve just turned and leaned over him, looking at his face as Tony very pointedly looked away. “Stop being lazy.”

Tony stretched out on his back with a grunt, looking up at Steve's ridiculously handsome face with the best scowl he could muster. It wasn't a good one, because all he ever wanted to do around his husband was grin like a lovesick idiot. “The very idea of jogging makes me want to stay in bed all day eating ice cream.”

“Tony,” Steve chided gently.

“People will see me in sweats,” Tony added, looking aghast at the very notion. “Think of my reputation.”

“You can run in slacks if you want to,” Steve playfully suggested, and to that Tony very maturely blew a raspberry. Steve chuckled, before he put his arm around Tony, his other hand going to run through his brown bangs. He tilted his head, hitting him with the full force of his stunning eyes. “Please?”

Tony pressed a little deeper into the pillows, staring up at him. That wasn't fair. He didn't know that puppy dog eyes were allowed in this, or he would have done it before. But now that he was on the receiving end, he could feel his resolve crumbling. Finally he heaved a dramatic sigh, lifting a hand to cup the back of Steve's head. “Damn your baby blues,” he said as he pulled him down into another kiss, this one deeper.

Steve smiled against his mouth. “Love you too.”

Tony was not out of shape. No, far from it. He just didn't jog. But this morning Steve managed to get him up and into some sweats and a rock band T-shirt, and they went across the street to the park. With one last 'ugh' to punctuate his dislike of physical activity outdoors, Tony fell in step with Steve as they began to jog, their feet hitting the pavement in a near musical rhythm. He wished he'd brought his sun glasses as he noticed how many people were in the park, jogging themselves, walking their dogs, just generally milling about. Thankfully they weren't looking at him. So nobody was surprised to see Tony Stark jogging with his husband? He was almost offended.

Steve just looked happy to be moving. He was a junkie for the endorphins working out gave him, Tony was almost sure of it. But then he turned his head and gave him a brilliant smile, and Tony's heart swelled just like it always did. Steve was just happy he was out running with him. He was a silly, beautiful, ridiculous, wonderful, lovable, sentimental man. Tony veered a little while gazing at him and stumbled, and Steve's hands immediately came out to steady him. His grasp was warm and strong and dammit. Tony had to admit, that he was sentimental too. If it wouldn't lead them to possibly clothes-lining someone, he'd suggest they run hand-in-hand like a pair of lovers frolicking through a field of daisies. He'd be disgusted with himself if he weren't so damn happy.

Tony kept up with Steve for a admirable amount of time if he did say so himself, but soon he felt winded and stuttered to a stop, leaning on a public drinking fountain and panting. Steve kept moving, running in a circle next to him. Backwards. He wanted to kick him. “How long have we been running?” Tony forced out over his labored breathing.

“Probably fifteen minutes,” Steve said as he continued to job backwards. He sounded perfectly fine.

“Only fifteen?” Tony gasped, before he shook his head firmly and swallowed. “No, must be longer.”

Steve stopped moving, standing there and looking like he'd just woken up, fresh and bright eyed. “I run the same route every morning. I've memorized the distance and the amount of time it takes.” He put his hands on his hips and smiled when Tony just grunted unhappily at him. “What's the matter, old man, giving up already?”

Tony stood up straight like a shot, taking in a deep, indignant breath. “Old man? Old man! I'll show you old man, trophy husband!” And he was off, running again with renewed strength, as Steve laughed loudly behind him. He was doing that laugh that wrinkled his nose, and Tony was not going to look, nope. Steve caught up and ran beside him, and Tony glanced at him. He was wearing that lovely little smile of his, and Tony found his irritation waning almost immediately. He was not old though. Hiss.

This second wind lasted quite a bit, but at the end of it he was completely exhausted. And dramatically so. He staggered off the path and flopped down in the grass, his limbs all askew. He stared up at the sky, breathing hard through his parted lips. Eventually his vision filled with Steve, leaning over him with his hands on his knees. He didn't even look winded, the bastard. “Shut up,” Tony gasped up at him, bringing his hands up to rub at his eyes.

“I didn't say anything,” Steve said with a shrug and an easy smile.

Tony couldn't really do more than roll his eyes and lift his heavy arms up, holding out his hands. Steve stepped around him and took hold of his hands, pulling him up, and he collided up with him, using his muscular perfection to stay upright. “Are we done yet? Please say we're done. I want to locate a soft surface and make friends with it.” His cheek smooshed against Steve's chest, his arms hanging limp and useless.

But Steve, the glorious creature, just rolled his eyes and laced his fingers at Tony's lower back. “Sure, we're done.” He turned them back in the direction of the Tower. “Let's go.”

Tony took advantage of leaning against Steve on the way back, because he knew the man wasn't going to complain and would let him get away with quite a lot. He let his eyes flutter shut in the elevator, his ear pressed against his chest to hear his steady heartbeat. He probably would have fallen asleep there if Steve hadn't moved when they reached the penthouse, taking his hand and leading him inside. After they both annihilated some water, they went to the shower to run soapy hands over one another.

Eventually they ended up on the couch, Tony lying down with his legs thrown across Steve's lap and his arms thrown over the side neglectfully. They were watching TV, just flipping through the channels and every now and again arguing on what they were watching. Tony detested commercials and liked to change the channel the moment they came on. Steve's saintly patience was being tested, and he eventually wrestled the remote away to set it out of his reach. But then Tony just enlisted the help of JARVIS.

“You know,” Tony said after a while of a Law & Order: SVU marathon. “I've been thinking. What do you think about throwing a party for Peter?”

“What for, exactly? His birthday is months away,” Steve replied, not taking his eyes off of Christopher Meloni's handsome face.

Tony brought one of his legs up, his toes nudging Steve's side so he would look at him, and he grinned. “So we can meet this girl he likes. We can throw a party for his class, and she's bound to come. He'll also look super awesome and gain some cool points with his classmates.”

“Are you intending to play Cupid?” Steve asked, catching Tony's foot in his hand and digging his thumb into the sole in a way that made Tony shudder with delight. Tony brought up his other foot for the same attention, and Steve silently obliged. 

“Nah, that's something reserved for Clint,” Tony practically purred. His feet were sore from hitting the footpath for such a long time when he wasn't used to jogging, but then so were his calves and thighs. Hopefully Steve would massage those too. “I just want to see her and maybe shove Peter kicking and screaming at her. Hopefully then they'll talk and he'll end up with a girlfriend.”

“How is that not playing Cupid?” Steve asked with a chuckle, his expert fingers traveling up Tony's legs to knead his muscles.

“There's no diaper, little wings or heart tipped arrows involved. Shut up, the point is we should throw him a party and make him popular, that way he can get girls.” Tony shrugged as Steve lifted his brow at him, looking like he actually disapproved. “At least one girl, hopefully the girl he likes. What, stop looking at me like that.” He pouted, crossing his arms, because it was a good idea. It had worked for him!

“Why don't you ask what he wants before you call out the party planners?” Steve sigh, digging his thumb into a particularly stubborn knot that made Tony wriggle and arch with a gasp of pleasure-pain. “Peter might want to take things slow with this Gwen girl he likes.”

“No teenage boy wants to take things slow,” Tony said, and Steve gave him a look that was older than he was, and he huffed. Steve's values were getting in the way, and he loved him for it, he did, but in this instance he was wrong. “Speaking of, we should probably give him some condoms and a chat.”

Steve's hand still completely, and he sighed. “Tony, he's sixteen. He's too young to have sex.”

Tony, to his credit, managed not to deteriorate into a mass of laughter and side pain. He swallowed and sat up, swinging his legs off the couch and getting close to Steve's face. “Oh, Steve, my sweet Steve, don't ever change.” He grinned when Steve narrowed his eyes, aware he was being mocked. “Of course he's old enough to have sex. I'm actually surprised he hasn't already. I was younger than he is my first time.”

Steve's eyes widened, and he sputtered, “What, really? How old?”

“Fourteen,” Tony told him, and he touched Steve's face with his fingers, wanting to chase the near horror he saw away. “Right before I went to college. I was at boarding school, and a group of us snuck out to see the girls at a nearby Catholic school. I've been told it wasn't an ideal way to lose my virginity, but I think the very concept of virginity is ridiculously Victorian. Just like teaching abstinence.” He shifted, moving to straddle Steve's lap and lace his fingers behind his neck. “The point is kids are filled with hormones and in a hurry to grow up. Statistics say that twelve is the average age nowadays.” That made Steve's blue eyes go so large that he had to lean in and kiss him. “We can talk to him and give him a way to protect himself and anyone he sleeps with. All we can do is trust him not to become a baby daddy.”

Steve made a face at that term, though his arms did come around and hook at Tony's lower back, pulling him closer so that his shins were flush against the couch and they hips were pressed together so that they could have been doing something else if they had another state of dress. “I just,” Steve began with a sigh. “I can't help but think of him as a baby. My little boy.”

“I know,” Tony said, letting their foreheads lean together and staring into his eyes even if they were too close to see clearly. “But we still need to talk to him about sex and protection.” His thumbs rubbed in the short hairs at the back of Steve's neck.

Steve took a deep breath and let it out. “Did your dad talk to you about this stuff?”

Tony shook his head, his lips pressing together. “No, I learned from the older kids at my boarding school.” He tilted his head to the side. “And medical books, which were, in hindsight very helpful when it came to female erogenous zones.” That made Steve smile. “I take it your dad didn't talk to you either.” Steve just looked down. “Did anyone?” The eyes came up again, and he nodded. “Who?”

“Bucky,” Steve answered with a smile that undoubtedly meant Tony should have known.

Tony pressed closer, their fronts meeting even as his thighs screamed at him for the awkward position. “I guess we should talk to Peter together. We can give him different viewpoints.” Honestly he was dreading it, because it would be a hard conversation to have. It would undoubtedly embarrass the hell out of their poor teenager.

But Steve was shaking his head, his hands dipping under Tony's shirt and trailing up his back. “No, I don't think it should be both of us. He might think we're ambushing him. I'll talk to him.”

“Whoo, there's that bullet dodged,” Tony couldn't help but say, and Steve gave him a little glare. So he kissed his beautiful straight nose and wrapped his arms around his neck to hug him tight. “You'll probably be better at it than me. I'd be tempted to just throw the condoms at him and tell him not to get anyone pregnant.”

Steve stared at him for a second, before a smile lit across his face and he laughed. “Let no one doubt your parenting ability.”

“I'm better than the internet,” Tony beamed.

###### 

Breakfast and lunch had been all Steve cooking, so Tony took it upon himself to cover dinner. That meant bringing up a list of stupidly expensive restaurants on his tablet and perusing them as Steve sat next to him, engrossed in his sketchbook. “Hey,” he said eventually, and Steve looked up after a three second pause. “What do you feel about a nine course meal with duck as the main course?” He turned to look at him, his eyebrows up.

Steve was giving him that look again, the one he had when he didn't understand why something had to be so extravagant. He had it a lot, because, well, he was married to Tony Stark, who liked to throw money around like confetti at a parade. “Nine courses? That's a lot of food.”

“It's really not,” Tony said, kissing in between Steve's eyebrows when he tilted his head. “They're really small courses.” He drew back and tapped his stylus against his lips. “Is that a no?”

“It seems like a lot—”

“I know,” Tony complained, before he leaned against him and tipped his head to give him puppy dog eyes. “I just want to treat you to something grand and special for our anniversary.”

“You're just trying to get me into an expensive suit—”

“Something with suspenders if I can manage it.”

“—and take me to a restaurant without prices on the menu—”

“All the best ones are like that.”

“—and you know how uncomfortable it makes me.”

Tony sighed loudly, looking down at his tablet and rapidly tapping his stylus against his leg, end to end. “I'll buy out the whole place for the night if it helps,” he suggested in a pout, knowing that Steve would hate that. He didn't like getting treated like royalty even though he deserved every second of it. There is no other man in the world that deserved it like he did. But even after all these years he was still too humble to allow a league of servers to wait on him. It was as endearing as it was irritating.

Eyes traveling down to the sketchbook in Steve's hands, Tony felt a smile tugging at his lips. It wasn't just one drawing. It was a group of drawings circling around one in the middle. There was a young Peter, smiling hugely with one tooth missing, Pixie pulled into his arms. Then there was Tony asleep on the couch with a sleeping Peter draped over his chest, the light of his arc reactor shining in blue chalk. There was also a rendering of Tony feeding baby Peter in his high chair, a determined smile on his face. Was that how he had really looked? And the last little side picture was Peter, probably around ten, smiling wide with his glasses too-large on his face.

The middle picture made Tony's heart ache, but it was a good, welcoming kind of ache. It was all three of them, Tony and Steve walking next to each other with Peter between them, either of his hands in theirs. They were swinging him between them, and he was laughing. Tony could hear it in the back of his mind, that high, carefree peel of laughter.

Tony swallowed, wrapping his arms around Steve's and rubbing his cheek against his shoulder. He felt Steve's lips against his hair and smiled, his eyes continuing to roam over the sketches and picking out little nuances. Peter's dimple, for example, the one that only appeared on his left cheek. And Steve had drawn Tony's goatee in different stages, because he tended to style it in various ways depending on the time of the year. His eyes settled on baby Peter, lying across his chest with his little hand splayed over the light of his arc reactor.

Then suddenly he had the most brilliant of ideas and turned his eyes up to look at Steve. “Hey, you remember that diner in lower Manhattan?” he asked as he disentangled himself and sat up to bring up a map on his tablet. He could feel Steve's confused stare. “On Tribeca, near Broadway,” he said, blowing up the map and showing it to him.

He watched realization come to Steve's face, his eyes lighting up. “The one we went to before we went to the adoption center to meet Peter?”

Tony grinned at him. They had been so eager that day that they had arrived early for their appointment, so they wandered on foot around the area and eventually found Pearl's Diner, a little hole in the wall place with damn good pie a la mode. “That's the one,” he said, smiling brilliantly. “How do you feel about going there for dinner? We can eat bad food like chili fries, nachos, fried pickles—”

“What—”

“Shut up, they're delicious,” Tony said immediately, reaching up to cover his husband's mouth. “And pie and cake. We'll need to go on a cleanse afterward, but it'll be worth it.” He leaned in, replacing his hand with his lips. He pulled Steve down close, and he heard one of his drawing implements roll onto the floor. He flicked his tongue along the roof of Steve's mouth, causing him to groan and press in further. But then he abruptly broke the kiss. “Milkshakes!”

Tony drove, and his Lamborghini looked wonderful in the ten space parking lot of the diner. It was great to see that the diner survived sixteen years. It had the same name and same decorum, which was both tacky and homey at the same time. Tony wouldn't have it any other way. They settled in a booth and were ready even before the waitress in her pink apron got to them. Strawberry milkshakes, coffee, one of every savory dish and then pie. Tony was going to have his multi-course meal, and Steve just kind of sighed instead of complaining.

When the waitress brought them their shakes and appetizers, Tony batted Steve's hand away from the glass, before he grabbed his straw from his own shakes and put it in the glass to join Steve's. That made Steve laugh, and they both leaned over the table, drinking out of the straws with their faces close. The edges of Steve's eyes were crinkling, and Tony thought he looked gorgeous.

Steve liked fried pickles the moment he tried them. And he liked them even more when he dipped the slices in ranch sauce. “The menu has a kind of Southern feel, don't you think?” he asked as he gathered a generous of chili and melted cheese on a thick wedge of potato and shoved it in his mouth.

Tony reached over, wiping a bit of chili off the corner of Steve's mouth, before he licked his thumb. “Half of it is fried, so yeah.” He was working on his own order of nachos, which had pico de gallo and cilantro, so his mouth was burning a bit. His hunger was satiated, because he'd eaten off of five plates, but there were so much more to go. He called tell Steve wasn't having a problem, so he kept passing plates to him so he could annihilate them like a human garbage disposal. 

He had never eaten so much cheese in his life.

By the time dessert came along, he could feel his stomach pressing against the waistband of his trousers. He shouldn't eat any of the cheery, apple and chocolate pies, but dammit he wanted to. It was all a matter of willpower. He could do this. He just needed to picture it. He lifted his fork and took a bit of the apple, putting it in his mouth. It took him forever to chew it, and Steve was watching him, his face becoming more and more concerned. When Tony swallowed, it hurt.

With a whimpering moan, he slid to the side and laid down in the booth seat. He pawed blindly on the table for his white napkin cloth, waving it back and forth. “I surrender.” He went limp as Steve laughed.

Tony tipped one-hundred percent the price of all the food, as as he hobbled out of the diner with Steve, he glanced back to see their server holding the money in her hands with huge eyes. It made him smile. He felt like he was slowly slipping into a food coma as he drove back to the Tower, and he whined for Steve to carry him as they approached the elevator. Steve didn't, but he did let him lean on him. Eventually the ended up on the couch, and Steve queued up a few new episodes of Doctor Who.

Tony fell asleep with his head in Steve's lap, practically purring as Steve's fingers combed through his hair. He dreamed about going on adventures with the Doctor, dragging Steve with him. And the Doctor threatened to shoot him into the sun or leave him with a pack of Weeping Angels when he asked if he could take the Tardis apart to see how she worked.

When he woke up, he was in his bed, and Steve was there with breakfast in bed again. He looked freshly showered, and he smiled to find that Steve had taken pity on him and allowed him to sleep as he went on his morning run. This time they stayed in bed after they ate, and Tony played one of his favorite games: test a super soldier's refractory period. Steve didn't complain.

When Peter got home that afternoon, they all went to Taco Bueno. As far as Tony was concerned, his and Steve's anniversary weekend had been perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: There's a science exhibit at OsCorp, and Peter wants to go.


	9. The Harmless Arachnid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes to a public science exhibit at OsCorp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, see, told you I'd churn this one out faster. I had this plotted out when I was still doing the chapters about babies. Time to get into the nitty gritty of the plot. You excited? I'm excited.

It was nearly dinner time, and Tony was sitting at the breakfast bar, watching Steve stand over the oven and make Japanese curry. It was a recipe that Bruce had given him, and Steve liked it so much that he made sure Tony and Peter liked it too. Tony was toying with his tablet, scrolling through his email which was both junk and official business alike. There was also an email from Rhodey, which was a pleasant surprise. And then more junk. It was angering that he, one of the lead minds in the world, had yet to come up with a successful algorithm to guard against spam.

He grunted, mass selecting things and deleting them, before he nearly threw his tablet at the sudden “HOLY SHIT!” that came from down the hall. Steve turned away from the food, and they looked at each other, before they were both rushing to Peter's bedroom. They burst inside, standing in the doorway, which could barely encompass both of them.

Peter was bent over his desk, his headset on and his hands covering his face. He was shaking, and it took a second for them to be able to hear that he was laughing, not crying.

“Peter?” Tony asked, and the teen looked at them, reaching up to pull his wireless headset off.

“You okay, buddy?” Steve asked, sounding uncertain.

Peter rubbed his eyes under his glasses, still possessed by the giggles, and he nodded rapidly. “Y-yeah. I'm watching this guy, Pewdiepie, play scary games, and there was this jump scare.” He gave a wheezing laugh, dropping his hands and looking at them. He couldn't seem to stop smiling. “I wasn't prepared for it, and it—I—” He blinked, before he snorted. “Yeah, I'm okay.”

Steve and Tony traded looks, before Steve started to close the door again. “Okay then, kiddo. Dinner, ETA fifteen minutes,” he said. Peter just nodded and put his headset back on. “And Peter.” The boy looked at him again. “Watch your language, young man.”

Peter smiled despite himself. “Sorry, Dad.”

When Steve closed the door, Tony was staring at him with one eyebrow raised. “Did you really just tell him to watch his language?” he asked, a grin spreading across his face. Steve just narrowed his eyes a little, not answering as be moved toward the kitchen again. “No, no, it's adorable, really, that you're trying to instill in him 40s values. It's admirable, but it's also like arguing with a stop sign.” He followed Steve, getting back up on the stool to sit at the breakfast bar and picking up his tablet again.

“Better old values than no values at all,” Steve said as he checked the chicken.

Tony lifted his eyes to his back. “Are you calling me a hedonist?”

“A hedonistic genius billionaire playboy philanthropist,” Steve said evenly.

“Dick,” Tony replied.

Steve snorted a chuckle as he fluffed the rice. “Love you.”

“Uh huh,” Tony lifted his Stark-Pad and went to Youtube. “How do you think you spell 'Pewdiepie?'” he asked his husband, who looked at him, before he looked up and hm'ed. Tony entered a few guesses before YouTube figured out what he wanted and took him to the said user page. He clicked on an option titled 'Slender.'

“What's up, bros? My name is Peeeewdiepie!”

Tony ended up throwing his tablet with a nice, sharp, “Holy shit!”

Steve glared. Tony giggled.

At dinner, Peter was unusually silent, focusing on his curry and rice with a kind of intensity. Tony kept glancing at him, knowing he was working up the courage to say something. He was cataloging in his head subjects that would be difficult to breach, and only a few came up. He very much doubted that Peter had experimented with drugs, because the side effects would be obvious in him. He hoped he hadn't gotten a girl pregnant. And of course Peter wouldn't choose Oxford over M.I.T. 

When Peter still didn't say anything for a couple minutes, Tony set down his fork. “Hey, Peter,” he said, and his boy looked at him with his wide brown eyes. “What do you think about having a party for your friends?”

Peter paused in lifting a piece of chicken to his mouth. “What kind of party?”

Tony smiled, a bit catlike. “Oh, just a get together of your junior class. I can rent out a ball room at the James or Waldorf-Astoria.” He waved a hand, because that was easily done. “It doesn't have to be a black tie event. Informal is fine.”

Peter set down the neglected chicken. “Why?” he asked.

Tony just shrugged easily. “Oh, you know, I just thought it would be nice for you to have something fun to do with your friends.” At that, Peter tipped his head down, looking at him over the tops of his glasses. That was an expression that didn't belong on a sixteen-year-old's face. The gaze caused him to wither a little. “You can invite Gwen.”

Peter slouched back, looking up at the ceiling like he was asking for the serenity to deal with a meddling father. “Dad,” he said, and there was so much weight behind the word.

Tony just huffed, feeling the undeniable need to justify himself. “What, it's a good idea. It certainly can't hurt your reputation to hold a gala for your class.” 

Peter just slouched. “My reputation doesn't need your help.”

“Everybody's reputation needs my help,” Tony insisted.

“Tony.”

Looking over at Steve's face, Tony felt his resolve falling into the back of his mind with a tiny scream. He sighed loudly and leaned back, looking between his husband and his son. “I just thought it would be fun. We could have wandering servers with trays of food, a dance floor, and... I don't know.”

“Laser tag?”

Tony looked at Peter, who was looking at him hopefully. He just smiled, already compiling a list of gaming establishments with portable laser tag options in his mind. “Sure, kiddo, whatever you want.” Peter smiled at that, sitting up straighter, but Tony wasn't done. “But, you still have to invite Gwen.” He watched Peter's eyes drop, moving over his food, before they lifted to Steve, who just smiled at him. Finally he sighed and nodded, a little smile on his lips. “Good. How about this weekend? That gives you a few days to circulate the invitations, right? Oh, I could have fliers drawn up.”

Peter's face fell a little, before he slouched and picked up his fork again. “Um, actually, can we do it next weekend?” he asked, pushing his chicken into the brown sauce. “There's this event I want to go to this weekend.”

“What kind of event?” Tony asked.

Peter lifted his eyes, and Tony could swear he was on the edge of pouting. “A public science exhibit at OsCorp.” 

Tony just stared, his lips pulling to one side. He wanted to scream betrayal every time Peter mentioned his corporation's nemesis. Shouldn't his son be more offended about a company taking over the weapons making market when Tony was trying so hard to make world peace a reality? Norman Osborn, on multiple occasions, stated that Tony was letting his trauma get in the way of his goals. He could grumble and moan all he wanted like a child, because Peter should have some loyalty to him, dammit. It was bad enough that he was best friends with Norman Osborn's son.

Then Peter said the magic words. “Gwen's gonna be there.”

Dammit. Tony crossed his arms, feeling petulant, but he huffed and turned his eyes up. “Fine. Exhibit, this weekend. Party, next weekend.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Mm.”

###### 

Peter somehow managed to talk his dad out of making Happy drive him to OsCorp. Really, he had a skateboard, and he could catch the L for most of the distance. Other Dad just told him to stop worrying, that Peter did fine on his own so far, and when Captain America told you to stop worrying, everything was fine. He didn't get out of the Tower without making sure his StarkPhone was fully charged though. That was fine. He understood that his parents were both protective in their own ways.

He swerved through the mingling New Yorkers on the side walk, before turned at the entrance of the subway and flipped his board up into his hands. He went down the steps, pushing against the railing with a heavyset man lumbered up next to him. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket when he got to the bottom of the steps, digging out his metro card and swiping it. He spotted the train he needed to catch was already at the tracks and hurried to catch it, barely managing to get his scrawny self sideways through the closing doors.

A few people looked at him as he stumbled inside, and he gave them all a sheepish smile, before he tucked himself against a pole since the seats were taken, focusing on his own reflection. He fixed his glasses, which had gone a little funny on his face, then leaned his forehead against the cool glass.

He was so excited about seeing Gwen at the exhibit. He'd overheard her talking with her friends about how Dr Connors, the person she was working directly under, was letting her lead the tour for cross-species genetics. He loved hearing her talk, especially when she was talking about something she was passionate about, like in their advanced physics class. She shined. He closed his eyes, thinking about her smile and her perfect blonde hair. 

He wished he could get up the nerve to talk to her, instead of admiring her like a creepy groupie. It wasn't only his dad that teased him about it. Harry liked to make kissy noises in his ear when he caught him staring at her, which was often. He was just lucky that Flash had made the connection between his lovesick zoning out and the girl of his dreams. He'd never make it out alive if he started something.

He nearly missed his stop. He jumped out as the doors closed, scratching the back of his head and shrinking into his shoulders as people stared again. Way to be cool, Peter. He walked up the set of stairs to the street and dropped his board, kicking off and maneuvering through the people. It was just a few more blocks to the OsCorp building. He checked his watch and hurried up a little. He would blame his dad if he was late.

He got to a crosswalk and was lagging behind the crowd that was going across, too eager to wait for the next chance. The light changed with him in the street, and he got honked at. He held up his hand in the universal 'please don't use your vehicle to smash me' sign and ollie'd up onto the sidewalk. He was so close to the building that he could feel excitement fluttering in his stomach. He was going to see Gwen.

But, surprisingly, that wasn't the _only_ reason why he wanted to go to the science exhibit, just a really big one. His inner, and quite obvious, nerd was gleeful to what what science advancements OsCorp was working on. Not just cross-species genetics, but studies in radiation, aerospace engineering and all kinds of things that made him want to jump and down and foam at the mouth like a fanboy. 

But still, Gwen.

He came to the front of the OsCorp building and took the stairs two-by-two, overly excited. But before he got too far into the lobby, a broad hand caught his shoulder, and he looked up at a man in a black suit and sunglasses with an earpiece. “No skateboards in the building,” he said.

Peter's shoulders sagged. “C'mon, man, I don't have a place to leave it.”

The man leaned in, using his superior height and broadness to practically block out the light. “It's policy.” Peter hugged his board to his chest, shrinking with his eyes wide behind his glasses.

“What's going on here?” came a pleasantly familiar voice, and Peter and the guard looked over at Norma Osborn, himself, who was looking between them. “Peter, it's good to see you.”

Peter wriggled out of the large man's grip and stepped toward Mr Osborn. “You too, sir. He's trying to take my board away,” he said, jerking his thumb at the guard, who frowned deeply and reminded them it was policy again.

“Oh, please,” Mr Osborn said, setting his hand on Peter's shoulder. “I know this boy. He's practically my second son.” The made the guard back off and return to his post. Mr Osborn looked at Peter and squeezed his shoulder. “It's not like you're going to skateboard in my building, are you?”

Peter smiled and scuffed his shoe along the floor. “That depends on if the hallways are carpeted.” Mr Osborn give a sharp, bark of a laugh at that, patting Peter's shoulder. He lowered his board to his side and grinned all the wider. “Is Harry here?”

Mr Osborn shook his head. “No, he's grounded for failing his chemistry exam.”

“Ouch.” Peter winced in sympathy. He'd known about Harry's test, had tried to help him study for it, but Harry just wasn't that great at the subject. 

Shrugging, Mr Osborn squeezed his shoulder again before releasing him. “I'm sure you'll tell him all about it. Now, if you'll excuse me, there is a matter at one of my other labs I must attend to. Have fun, Peter.”

“Thanks, Mr Osborn,” Peter said as he watched the man leave the building with his assistant and two other attendants.

Peter hurried over to the group of people that were standing before a raised platform, where a man was talking about all the places the tour was going to be led to. They were going through several different floors and divisions, and Peter was very close to freaking out from what was to be a science overload. He glanced around in the crowd, noting equally excited expressions. And then he spotted someone very familiar and grinned.

As the crowd started moving, he maneuvered through them and touched the arm of the man. “Hey, Dr Banner.”

Said nuclear physicist and his kind of godfather turned, looking surprised for a minute before he smiled widely. “Hello, Peter, I wasn't expecting you to come to this exhibit,” he said as they fell in step and moved with the pack of people.

“Wouldn't miss it.” Peter pulled his board in front of him when he felt it impact with someone, and he shared a glance with that someone for a second, trying to express how sorry he was with his eyes.

“I'm surprised Tony let you,” Dr Banner said, a smile in his voice and softly curling his lips.

Peter huffed. “Well, he wasn't too happy.”

“I bet,” Dr Banner said as they stopped at the first floor, turning towards a wall with a long window with a white, sterile room on the other side. Inside of the room, there were scientists and interns milling about in white coats and mouth masks. The tour guise explained what they were doing, how they had been working for years on a way to test for potential cancer cells before they turned on the body.

They moved on, going through a few more floors. Peter kept glancing up at Dr Banner, who was taking a quiet, but obvious enjoyment in the tour. He had a dimple when he smiled a certain way. Peter had noticed it before when he'd wandered into his lab for help with his physics assignments. He could talk to the man about science for hours.

“I wish I bought my camera,” Peter told him as they waited in line to go up an escalator. “I'm actually surprised Dad didn't suggest it. It would be like reconnaissance on the enemy.”

Dr Banner chuckled at that. “I doubt they allow photography on this tour. The tour guide said the sight of phones would get you extracted and escorted out.”

Peter wearily spun a wheel on his board with his thumb. He was having visions of being tossed down the steps in the front of the building and rolling into traffic. “I missed that.” He could just imagine the guard at the front taking pleasure in booting his ass out of the building now that Mr Osborn wasn't there to save him.

The tour continued, and eventually they got to the part that Peter was anticipating most. He stood on his toes when he saw her, unable to help the goofy smile on his face. She looked so prim in her white coat, her long blonde hair pulled back in a high, tight ponytail and a clipboard in her hands. As she spoke, gesturing through a window at a revolving circular wall of spiders of all things, he tried to pay attention, but he found himself distracted by the way her mouth curved.

“So that's _the_ Gwen?” came a voice in his ear, and he jerked his head to look at Dr Banner, who was smiling. “Tony told me. She's pretty. And she's smart. You have good taste, Peter.”

Peter blushed all the more, before he turned to look at Gwen again. “...originally bred by Dr Richard Parker nearly twenty years ago, these spiders have exponentially increased lives and web strength. OsCorp collects the webs to...” Peter didn't catch the rest. He was stuck on that name. Richard Paker. He touched the face of of his watch, rubbing his thumb over the glass.

_For R.P. My loving husband._

When the crowd started moving again, he stayed put, walking up to the glass of the window to get a better look at the spiders. The webs they were crawling on were an almost luminescent blue. There were hundreds of them, and just seeing them was surreal. He pressed his hand against the glass. His birth father had bred these? He was a geneticist? Nobody had told him. Maybe that hadn't known. The only thing his Uncle Ben had said about his birth father was that Peter looked just like him.

“Hey.”

Peter jumped back away from the glass like it had stung him, turning toward the voice. Gwen smiled at him, stepping closer to him with her clipboard held in front of her. She was biting her lip, and it was a pretty sight. They were completely alone in the corridor. The tour must have moved on to another floor. He tried to say hi back, but it came out as a kind of croak, so he cleared his throat. “H-hey, Gwen. Fancy meeting here,” he tried, giving her an awkward grin.

She let out a soft laugh, lifting her hand to push blonde bangs behind her ear. “I work here.”

Peter immediately backpedaled. “I know! I just meant, that, like, you know, I wasn't expecting to see you outside of...school. You know.” She was nodding, a sympathetic look on her face, and he wanted to run away screaming. “Um.”

She looked at the window. “So, is the Richard Parker that bred these spiders your father?”

“You know my name?”

“Of course I know your name. You're in almost all of my classes. Answer the question.”

He smiled wearily. Strangely, that was an easier subject. Better to talk about stuff he was nearly removed from. “Yeah, my birth father. I never knew him.” He set his hand on the window again and swallowed. “He died when I was a baby, along with my birth mom.” He gave a half shoulder shrug. “Car accident.” When he looked back at Gwen, her brows were bowed, and he looked terribly sad.

“I'm so sorry.”

He just chewed the inside of his lip, his hand on his board going to nervously spin one of the wheels again. “It's okay,” he said, even though he knew it really wasn't. “I didn't know he did this. My parents don't really know anything about him, and my aunt and uncle don't talk about him.” His hand slid down a little. “And I never really asked.”

He looked at Gwen as she stepped closer, her hand reaching over to rest on his arm. He didn't care if all she was feeling was pity, because her hand was so warm, and he wanted to take it in his and kiss it. She looked about to say something, when her face changed, brightening, as an idea came to her. “Hey, on the last executive tour we did, we gave out pamphlets about the spiders to companies that might want to buy the webbing. It has a lot of information about the spiders and Dr Richard Parker in it. Do you want one? I'm sure we still have them.”

Peter was taken aback. He had thought she was going to tell him to catch up with the rest of the tour. Surely standing around unsupervised was against some policy. All the policies. But here was was offering to help him gain a piece of his family. He could only nod, unable to find words.

She smiled at him, and it was such a pretty smile, and her hand slipped down his arm to take his hand. And _oh_. That was nice. She pulled him toward the door of the spider room, sliding her intern card in the lock, and the light flickered green before the door slid to the side. He thought she was going to ask him to wait, but she pulled him inside and the door shut behind them. They were in a small office, like an antechamber that was connect to the room full of spiders. It had a computer desk, three rows of shelves and not much else. 

Peter watched Gwen go through the shelves, muttering to herself that the pamphlets still had to be there. She looked so cute with that deeply concentrating look on her face, and he longed to kiss her cheek from behind. He looked away, feeling his his cheeks heat up, and he focused on the door that separated them and the room of spiders and webs. There was no handle, but there was a panel on the side with a single button. Absolutely unable to help himself, he pushed it and the door slid open with a hushed hiss.

Glancing at Gwen, who was completely preoccupied, he stepped through the doorway into the room with all the spiders and heard the door closer behind him. The walls of spiders and webs were like a spiral that came to an end in the middle of the room, and they were luminescent, softly glowing blue. He didn't know what made them glow that color. He probably would when Gwen found the pamphlets. The spiders, with their thin-as-pins legs, scuttled along the webs, making designs that only made sense to them.

So his father had bred these? Well, he'd probably bred the first generation ones, and these were their descendents. Was super strong webbing what he was going for? Why? Again, the pamphlet would probably tell him. He moved closer to the webs. They looked just as thin and fragile as a regular spider web. He lifted a hand, intending to pluck one like a guitar string.

A hand grabbed his shirt and jacket tails and jerked him backward, and he gasped, dropping his board, and it smacked against the wall of webs. He ended up on his butt in the small room with Gwen standing over him, her hands on her hips and a deeply disappointed but still ridiculously pretty. She had a folded pamphlet in her hand.

“What were you doing?” she asked him.

“I was just—”

Gwen cut him off with a sharp hand gesture, pointing at the room of spiders. “Those are constantly being dosed with a level of radiation in order to sustain their mutation. You don't go in there without a HazMat suit. Do you want cancer?”

Peter shook his head, shrinking into his shoulders. “I didn't know.”

She gave a huff, throwing her hands up and rolling her eyes, before she offered him her hand. “Of course you didn't, but you don't just go into a room of mutated spiders like that. Are you insane?”

Peter didn't let go of her hand when he got up, instead holding it in his and rubbing his thumb along her knuckles. “Little bit.” He gave her an uneven grin. Be smooth. Be smooth. Damn, he didn't even know what smooth was.

She looked at their hands, before a smile spread across her lips and she laughed. She pushed the folded paper against his face, making him sputter, before she stepped back. “Take your stupid pamphlet, you cheese ball.”

He laughed, looking at it, before he folded it in half and put it in his back pocket. “Thanks.” They traded a long look, and he could feel the heat raising on his cheeks. He went to spin a wheel on his skateboard and then realized something was wrong. He jerked his head toward the spider room. “Crap, my board.” He went to go after it, but she smacked his shoulder hard enough to make him give a soft 'ow.' 

She opened the door and bent over to quickly grab it, and he had a second to appreciate her coat sliding to show off her butt through her skirt, before his board was flying at him. He scrambled with it for a moment, before he held it against his chest with a bashful grin. “Thanks.”

Gwen just rolled her pretty blue eyes, before she grabbed his shoulder and turned him around, pushing him out of the room and into the corridor. “C'mon, let's go catch up with the group.” She walked ahead of him with long quick strides. As he followed he felt a sensation on his back, like a caress, and shuddered, and he pulled at his shirt tail. It was probably just a loose hair or something. 

Gwen led him back to the group. The tour coming to an end. They both stood in the back, Gwen with her clipboard against her chest and Peter with his skateboard against his. She stayed with him as the group moved back toward the lobby. There she nudged his shoulder with hers and turned to go.

Abruptly he reached out and grabbed her hand. “Hey wait.” She turned and looked at him, her brows lifting so high that they disappeared into her bang. “Um,” he tried, floundering for words. “Thanks. For the pamphlet, I mean.” She smiled at him, and he grinned stupidly back, before he thought of something. “Uh, my uh, my dad is throwing a party next weekend. He's renting a hall at a hotel. It's for the whole junior class. Do you, um, do you wanna go?”

She blinked, before she looked at where their hands were joined, for the second time today. She gave him a squeeze. “I'd love to. Give me all the details at school, okay? I have to go back to work now.”

Reluctantly, he let her go, nodding. He watched her turn down the hallway, and when she looked over her shoulder at him, he waved at her. She seemed to giggle, waving back, before she picked up the pace and vanished into an elevator. He felt like dropping onto the floor happily, because that day couldn't get any better. He might as well just go to sleep now.

Dr Banner came up to his side, his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “Enjoy the exhibit?”

“You have no idea,” Peter said, turning his beaming grin up at him.

“Want to share a taxi back to the Tower?” 

“Sure.”

It didn't take too long for Dr Banner to hail a cab, and they both piled inside. When the cabbie got the destination, they pulled into traffic. Peter sighed and leaned back against the seat, and when he did he immediately felt a sharp pain on the back of his neck. He jerked forward and touched the spot, feeling nothing. Dr Banner gave him a look, and he shrugged. The leather of the seat must have pinched him or something. Weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Tony throws a party. Peter starts feeling weird.


	10. Time For A Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are happening to Peter that he can't quite explain. But he can't put his life on hold.

Peter didn't dream. He went to bed with a weird headache, and it felt like no time had passed between closing his eyes and opening them again. But when he did open them, the whole room assaulted him all at once. The light peeking in through the curtains, the glaring brightness of his alarm clock's face, every single poster on his wall, the rack of skateboards, the little blue power light on his computer monitor: he could see _everything._ He sat up slowly, shivering as his sheets slid down his arms and bare upper half. He rubbed his arms, feeling the goosebumps and letting out a shaky breath. 

Pixie came online as he work up, and she lifted her head from her crossed paws, swinging her tail back and forth while looking at him. He stared at her, counting the small bolt holes along her body and wondering why he'd never noticed there were so many before. He guessed he hadn't been paying attention.

He swung his feet onto the ground, reaching blindly for his glasses and unfolding them to put them on. And they promptly snapped in half. He made a noise of shock, looking at the halves of his glasses in his hands. He tried to push them together, knowing it had to have some tape around somewhere. He put them up to his eyes, trying to fit them around his face. He paused, squinting. Why were they so blurry? He pulled them off, and his eyes widened. Looking around and turning in circles, he found everything was as sharp as it was when he wore his glasses. He could read the words of his posters crystal clear.

He stood in the middle of his room for a little while. Eyesight didn't magically become better. Hyper awareness wasn't a normal occurrence. He knew that. He wasn't an idiot. There had to be some logical explanation. Something must have changed—

The radiation! That had to be it. The radiation in the spider room must have warped him somehow.

Peter fell upon his clothes from the previous day, which were in a pile on the floor. Pixie came over and nosed his arm curiously, but he pushed her away gently. He needed that pamphlet. It had to have information about the type of radiation that he'd been dosed with. Maybe then he could go to Dr Banner and ask him to run some tests to see if he was going to get cancer or something equally awful.

As he shook out his shirts while looking for his pants, something fell out of them onto the floor, and he stopped dead, staring at it. “Oh shit,” he whispered, lowering his shirts and looking at the immobile, dried up looking spider as he dog walked around him and sat near it, staring. He panicked, looking around and carding his fingers through his hair. He'd accidentally stolen a spider worth probably thousands of dollar and killed it! Scrambling, he looked under his bed and grabbed a Converse shoe box, dumping the photos he'd stashed in it and urging the spider into it by sweeping it with the lid.

He wondered, if he took it back, would they try him as an adult or put him in juvenile detention?

Peter rocked back on his butt and stared at the petrified spider, before he slowly covered the box with its lid and looked up at the ceiling. If OsCorp found out that he had been in the spider room, they would look at the security tapes and see that Gwen had been his way in. She'd be punished too, and he just... couldn't allow that. This was his fault, not hers. He pushed the box under his bed and up against the wall at the head of it. He'd wait, and if he didn't hear anything then... well, no news was good news.

Pixie made a little whining noise, and he absently patted her.

Trying to get his head on straight, he climbed into the shower, intending to sooth his twitching muscles with hot water, but the moment the stream hit him he gasped and bent over, eyes wide. He could feel each line of water hitting him separately, like the tiny hairs on his body were all standing on end and sending millions of messages to his brain all at once. He put his hands in his hair, breathing hard and trying to calm down. 

He counted silently to ten, focusing on the water, the whole of it. He focused on the broad, not the acute, willing his body to calm. He ordered his muscles to stop twitching, breathing evenly in and out with the patience of a martial artist. But really he was recalling the time he'd been in Dr Banner's lap and the man had started to change. He'd watch him come down, and it was an eye opening sight. If Dr Banner could keep a rage beast inside, then Peter could control... whatever was happening to him.

Slowly the signals slowed, and everything started to feel normal again. He turned his face against the spray, eyes closed. He was so glad it was Sunday, because this was not a good day to go to school.

He felt better after his shower and when he was dressed, but he was still very aware of everything around him. He wanted to put his earbuds in, put his Stark MP3 player on something loud and hide under his covers. But then the scent of breakfast wafted under his nose and he was ravenous. He moved out of his room with Pixie on his heels and down the hall to the dining room. Of course, one of his dads was finishing up cooking while the other one messed around on his tablet, an absolute failure at helping. Steve had told him that even with assistance, Tony burned all food ever.

Tony looked up when he came into the dining room, and he saw his eyebrows go up. He laid down his tablet as Peter sat down. “Morning. Where are your glasses?” he said, and it sounded like a question as his brows came together. Peter sat down and didn't answer, keeping his eyes on his place setting. “Peter, you look... Your eyes are all red.” Peter felt his dad's fingers against his cheek, then they laid over his forehead. “Your skin is clammy. I think you may be sick.”

Peter sat up straighter and batted halfheartedly at Tony's hand, shaking his head. “No, I just didn't sleep well and am having trouble shaking it. I'm sleepy, is all.” He looked up as Steve set the plates of food down, walking around the table to give Peter his. He prepared himself for him checking his temperature too.

Instead Steve touched the back of his neck, pushing the short hairs up. “Peter, what's this?”

“What's what?” he asked, confused.

“It looks like a spider bite.”

Tony was on his feet. “That's it, we're going to the ER.”

Peter turned his head and looked up at Steve, who looked grim. “Oh come on, stop overreacting!” he cried, waving his arms at his parents with a huff. “I'm fine!” Even as he said this he was panicking inside. The spider bit him. God knows what that did to him. He didn't want to explain that he had been bitten by a radioactive spider to a doctor. That would prompt too many questions. 

His fathers were staring at him, and he just gave a big dramatic sigh. “Look, I slept funny. That's it. I feel fine. I'm hungry. People that're dying of spider venom aren't hungry.” He shoved a forkful of fluffy scrambled eggs. It was delicious, amazing and all he ever wanted. “I'm really hungry,” he said with his cheek full.

Tony and Steve sat down as he tore into his food, passing worried glances at each other. He flicked his eyes between them a few times, but he was mostly concerned with the hunger that was eating up his stomach. He ate _a lot,_ much more then usual, and he was probably cutting into Steve's super soldier share. But when he finally stopped he felt amazing, more in control of his own body, and he looked between them. “See? Just hungry.”

Tony reached over and touched his cheek again. “Well you look better,” he said, though he sounded like he didn't quite want to let it go.

Peter didn't let him go much farther than that. He stood up, dumped his dishes in the sink and walked around the table. Tony called after him, but he just waved over his shoulder. “I have homework!” And he went back into his room with his robot dog following close behind. He did have homework, but not of the school kind. He found the pamphlet from the exhibit and set down to read it, and read it again, and again once more. It didn't actually say much about the kind of radiation used or what exactly was done to the spiders. The pamphlet was written like a marketing ploy, listing the advantages of the webbing compared to rope and steel cables. 

There wasn't really much information about Richard Parker either, just that he had come up with an equation that had revolutionized cross-species genetics. It didn't list the equation, because it was no doubt being guarded heavily by OsCorp and its employees. 

He sighed as he sat at his desk, his hand falling to pet Pixie's head where it rested on his knee. “What have I gotten myself into, girl?” The dog gazed at him with her bright light eyes, before she made a soft whining noise, He rubbed his fingers along her smooth metal head, before he looked toward his computer monitor and gave up. He needed to do research. Google time.

###### 

Tony was in his workroom, writing and rewriting the software for his suit, trying to fix all of the holes he suddenly saw. It's strange how you go over something a month later, and suddenly there are imperfections everywhere. The only sounds in the room were the gently thumps of his fingers against the flat, luminescent keyboard and the scratch of pencils on paper. He looked up after a moment to look at Steve, who was sprawled out on the loveseat up against the wall, doodling away.

Despite the fact that Tony had presented Steve with a room made entirely of windows, filled with art supplies and easels and always the latest drawing tablet, his husband only used it for serious projects. He liked to sketch where he could be near Tony, even when they didn't talk for hours. Steve looked content. His head was propped up on the arm of the loveseat, one foot on the other arm and one foot on the floor. The base of his sketchbook was against his stomach, held vertical with one hand as the other hand sketched. It was a lovely sight to watch him lost in his own world. 

Tony pushed his rolling chair back and stood up, padding silently over to him. Steve's blue eye flicked to him when he came to stand before the loveseat. “What're you drawing?” Tony asked as he put his knee on the cushion between Steve's legs, turning to straddle his thigh. Steve merely smiled, turning his sketchbook to face him. On the page was a man, his body blurred by the fire surrounding him, but his eyes and smile were unmistakable. So clear was the four on his chest. “Is that Johnny Storm?” he asked, sitting on Steve's thigh. “I think I'm jealous.”

Steve snorted, dropping the sketchpad on the floor with his pencil and holding his arms out. Tony leaned into his embrace, letting himself lay across his front with Steve's broad arms around him. “I just wanted to draw someone on fire. You know that I draw you the most, but if you're on fire, that means something's wrong.”

Tony chuckled into his neck, before he tilted his head up and kissed his chin. When Steve tilted his head to the side, revealing the long expanse of his thick neck, Tony peppered it with kisses and little nips. He thought about marking him up above the collar, since hickeys only last an hour or two on his skin anyway. He rocked his hips against Steve's, earning a sigh as his hands moved down to grip his lower back. “I like it when you draw me,” he murmured against the soft spot below Steve's ear.

“That's because you're vain.”

Tony couldn't disagree. He had more than a few of Steve's drawings of him framed and hanging on the walls of his workshop. He also had drawings of Peter and of them all. He had photos too. In the time that he and Steve had been together, the man had turned him into a gooey memory hoarder. He didn't think he'd forget if he didn't have all the pictures, but he just liked being reminded of what was really important to him when he was spending stints in his shop. 

He also had two or three posters of his armor, but anyway.

Sliding their lips together, Tony's hands moved down to set on Steve's hips, rocking his own against them. Steve's hand went lower, spreading on his ass and making him groan softly into his mouth. He wanted to replace the thoughts of the Human Torch in his mind, fill him with other thoughts. 

“Pardon me, Sirs.”

Tony and Steve stopped, eyes opening as Tony withdrew from the kiss, before he groaned and dropped his head on Steve's shoulder. “JARVIS, I should change a letter in your name to a C. 'Just a rather very intelligent cockblock.' How would you like that?”

“That would limit the definition of my abilities, Sir.”

To that Steve chuckled, and Tony resisted the urge to bite him. “What do you want?”

“You asked me to watch for certain words and phrases that young master Peter might search. I wanted to inform you that he is diligently researching one Dr Richard Parker and his connection to OsCorp.”

Tony started to sit up on Steve's thigh, but strong hands kept him in place, and he looked at Steve's face. “You're keeping tabs on our son?” he asked.

Tony huffed, managing to sit up, his own hands spread over Steve's stomach. “Yes, but not like you think.” Steve's blond brows went up, prompting him to explain. He sighed and got off the couch. “When he was eight and we gave him his own computer, I flagged certain searches, but not because I like spying on him. I wanted to know so we could prepare for when he came to us with questions about his birth parents.” He sighed and moved over to his work bench, closing windows that JARVIS had opened for him, detailing what Peter was looking up. He didn't need to see it.

He stepped away from his workbench and found Steve standing, his sketchpad hanging from one hand. He gave a half-shouldered shrug. “When Peter didn't come to us with questions, I forgot all about the parameters I set and just left them.”

“Every little boy has questions, Tony. You didn't need to take these measures. We would have done just fine.” Steve didn't sound disappointed, per se, but he definitely didn't sounds happy.

Tony shook his head. “You would have done just fine. You've always done just fine.” He leaned his butt against the desk, gripping the edge of it. “I wouldn't know the first thing to say if Peter came asking about his birth parents. What do you tell a boy when he asks why his parents died?”

Steve dropped his gaze to the floor for a moment, before he set down his sketchpad on the loveseat and moved over to Tony, lifting his hand to run his fingers through the white hair at his temples. “There is no way to have all the answers.”

“I like having all the answers,” Tony insisted.

“I know you do, but that doesn't mean you can. Even if Peter came to us now and asked why his birth parents died in a car crash, what would you tell him?” He set both his hands on either side of Tony's face, brushing his cheekbones with his thumbs. 

Tony looked at him for a long moment, searching for the correct answer in those baby blue eyes, before he realized there was nothing to be found and dropped his gaze. “I don't know.”

Steve slid his hands back, lacing his fingers on the back of Tony's head, before he urged him to look back up. “Neither do I,” he said, his brows bowing up as Tony's eyes softened. 

Moving forward a little into Steve's arms, Tony brought his hands up to hold the backs of his shoulders and press his forehead into his collar. He drew in a deep breath when Steve wrapped his arms around him, before he let it out through his nose. It was a comfort to know that he wasn't alone in not knowing.

###### 

Tony had fliers made up about the party at the ball room in the Waldorf-Astoria, complete with an entire laser tag tent taking up the ball parking area. Peter enlisted Harry's help in spreading the fliers through the school. No one was interested in attending a party for Peter Parker, but everyone was excited about going to a party thrown by Tony Stark.

Peter hurried to Gwen's desk when the bell rang, catching her as she was putting her books away. She smiled at him, and he offered her one of the fliers. “You told me to give you information about the party,” he told her as she took it and looked it over. 

Gwen smiled all the wider, hiking up her bag and jutting out one hip. She folded the flier in half, tipping her eyes up to him. “I'm looking forward to it,” she said as she put the flier in the book she was holding. “I've always wanted to go to an extravagant party.” She turned, starting for the door of the room, and Peter fell in step after her. “Informal, right?”

“Right. You can't play laser tag in a dress,” Peter said as they went out into the hall and joined the traffic of students.

She lifted a fine blonde brow at him. “Could too,” she told him, nudging his side with her elbow.

“Could not,” he laughed, smiling back at her.

Then a strange tingling started at the base of his skull, and he was suddenly aware of his surroundings in their entirety. He turned, putting his hands up because he knew he had too, and he caught a basketball that had been on a collision course for his head. He stared at it, gasping in a breath.

“Nice catch,” Gwen said, surprise coloring her voice. He shot her a sheepish smile.

Then, from down the hall, “Give it up, Parker!” It was Flash. Of course, it was Flash. Who else could it be? He was standing with half of the basketball team, looking as smug as could be.

“What a jerk,” Gwen muttered next to him.

Peter set his teeth, before he stood up taller and reared his hand back with the ball. “Catch!” he called, before he threw it at him.

Flash did catch it, but the force of it knocked him right off his feet and onto his back with a grunt of surprise. Silence fell in the hall for all of five surprised seconds, before chatter erupted. Wasn't the captain of the basketball team supposed to be more sure footed?

Peter looked satisfied for a moment, before he noticed people were staring at him and immediately embarrassment set in. He wasn't supposed to be able to do that. He was a skinny little nerd, and he was the kind of person that got bullied by jocks like Flash. Not the other way around. He watched Flash get to his feet, staring at him in a mixture of confusion and rage, before Peter turned away.

And he turned to find Gwen staring at him, shocking him to a stop. “You've got quite an arm,” she said slowly, tilting her head to the side.

He laughed, a kind of high sound that was a little pathetic, before he lifted his arm. “This arm? No, it was a lucky shot.” He flexed to make his point, and he wasn't expecting his muscles to strain against the fabric. He quickly dropped his arm, putting on a big, unsure smile.

She blinked at him, before she shook her head. “You're a strange one, Peter Parker,” she said as she turned when the warning bell rang.

He stared after her for a little while as students passed by him, giving him glances. He pulled his lips to one side, before he turned toward his own class. Gwen had no idea just how strange he was.

###### 

If there was one thing that Tony Stark was not very good at doing, it was being the oldest and most responsible one in the room. If one split hairs, that title belonged to Steve, but being over a hundred in actual years didn't really count when he'd spent seventy of those years in ice. Also Steve would always look like he was in his twenties, which was totally unfair if Tony did say so himself. But then he liked having an husband that would stay young and handsome, and anyway, whatever.

Watching a bunch of teenagers mingle and dance to mainstream music made him feel _old_. There were girls in too-short skirts and boys that were a little too friendly. He was immediately appalled that he'd had that thought. He didn't like feeling like an adult.

Peter was talking with Harry and a few kids that Tony recognized from the photography and journalism clubs. He looked happy, but there was no sign of the Gwen girl that he kept looking around for. His boy was completely smitten. Young love made him feel old too.

Tony sighed from his spot leaning against the wall, and Steve looked at him. “Is it bad that I'm thinking about spiking the punch?” he asked in a grumble.

“Don't you dare,” Steve told him with a smile on his lips.

Tony just shook his head. “I know, I know, I'm a terrible chaperon. I couldn't anyway, not with Natasha over there with Clint, watching everybody at the same time. She'd cut my hand off.”

Steve chuckled, lifting his arm and putting it over Tony's shoulders. Tony reached over and took hold of one of the suspenders he'd convinced him to wear, rubbing his thumb along the leather. “She couldn't do that. We took her weapons away.”

“She could probably be pretty inventive with a butter knife,” Tony complained, turning to press himself against Steve's side. Steve just chuckled, tightening his hold on him and making him smile wider. He stayed there, peaceful. That is, until the next song came on and the singer whined to an irritating beat. “Ugh!” 

“What?” Steve asked.

“What is this music? Is this honestly what kids listen to these days? When I was looking over the DJ's list, some of the artists had symbols in their names. I think this is the one with the dollar sign in her name. Give me some good 70s and 80s rock any day over this mess.” He seethed until he felt the movement of Steve's laughter, and he looked up at his face in annoyance. “What's so funny?”

“Next you'll be waving your cane and telling youngsters to get off your lawn,” Steve said, unable to keep the amusement from his face. He smiled brilliantly with his laughter.

Tony tried to look as appalled as possible, even if Steve's laughter was a warm, contagious thing. “Stop it, you're the old man here. With your suspenders!” He playfully pushed him, and Steve just let out a bark of laughter that was beautiful.

Crossing his arms and playing at insulted, tony turned back to look over the crowd of teenagers. He caught sight of Peter again, but he was looking at the door. Following his gaze, he saw Gwen, and he nudged Steve to get his attention. “There she is,” he said, and she was a pretty girl, even prettier in person. She was wearing a dress with a loose skirt, a deep blue, and it reached her mid-thigh. It went well with her black leggings and suede boots.

He glanced back at Peter, who was still staring but hadn't moved. Maybe he was struck by her beauty. But he still still as Gwen looked around for someone familiar then moved along the wall. “He's not doing anything,” Tony complain as he watched Peter watch her. He sighed, before he stepped out onto the floor before Steve could stop him. He went right for Peter, tossing an arm over his shoulders once he got there.

“Pardon me, I need to borrow my son,” he told his friends, and Peter made a noise of shock as he was turned away and marched right for Gwen.

“Dad,” Peter said, putting up some resistance and looking terrified. Gwen looked up, spotting them as they drew near. “Dad, what're you doing?”

“Helping,” Tony said simply, before he came to a stop in front of the girl. “So you must be Gwen!” he said, putting on his best public smile and offering her his hand. “I'm Tony Stark.”

She swallowed, before she took his hand. “I know,” she said first, before she looked surprised. “I mean—of course you're Tony Stark, you're—“ She blushed hard, and it was so cute. “I'm Gwen Stacy, sir.”

“Stacy? Any relation to police Captain George Stacy?” Tony asked, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. It was cute that she was flustered. 

She nodded. “He's my father,” she said, finally smiling brightly.

Tony made a soft 'hm' noise, before he looked at Peter, who still looked a little shell shocked, before he set his hand on his back and pushed him closer to her. “Right, well my son wants to talk to you. Enjoy the party, Ms Stacy.” With that Tony turned away and went back to his husband.

“You know,” Steve said when he leaned back against the wall. “You are the very best at embarrassing our son.”

Tony just grinned. “It's a gift.”

###### 

Peter and Gwen both watched Tony move away, and Peter did that embarrassed laugh again when she smiled at him. “He's an, uh, interesting man,” he said, before he cleared his throat.

“I like interesting,” she said, and she wasn't looking at Tony anymore. Her eyes were firmly set on Peter's reddened face.

Peter scuffed his foot, coughing softly. “I—You look really pretty,” he said, before he nodded toward the buffet table. “Are you thirsty?” She nodded mutely, and he led her over to it, spooning out some punch into a cup for her. 

She accepted it gratefully, before he looked past the table. Her hand came around his arm, and she tugged his shirt sleeve. “Is that Black Widow?” she asked, gazing at her when most would avert their eyes.

He smiled, leaning in to say in her ear. “And Hawkeye. It's Natasha and Clint, and I'm sure they're both regretting agreeing to come to this party. Don't they look so bored?” He could smell her this close. She was wearing a gentle perfume. He wanted to bury his nose in her hair.

She turned to look at him, and their faces were an inch apart. She had a brightness in her eyes, almost blinding this close. “Can you introduce me to them? I've always wanted to meet her. She's such a badass.” 

He gave a surprised laugh at her curse, before he smiled wider at her. “Sure,” he said, taking her hand in his and leading her around the table. It was only the third time that he'd held her hand, and it felt so right in his, warm and soft. He brought her in front of Clint and Natasha, and he shifted to regard him.

“Hey, Petey,” Clint said, and Peter wanted to beg him to never call him that again in front of anyone. “Is this Gwen?”

“Dad told you?” Peter asked, his eyes widening.

“Tony told everyone,” Natasha said, before she smiled one of her gentler smiles at Gwen. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Gwen said, sounding awestruck. 

“He has a picture of you on his phone,” Clint said, and his grin was crooked and amused.

Gwen squeezed Peter's hand, and he wanted to die of both shame and happiness. “You do?” she asked, and at least she didn't sound horrified. In fact she was smiling like she was flattered. Peter wanted her to be flattered. When he was too embarrassed to answer, she turned to Natasha and Clint. “How long have you two known Peter?”

“Since he was a baby,” Natasha answered, he smile turning fond.

“We babysat him a few times,” Clint offered.

Peter was screaming 'no, no, no!' in his head. This was not where he wanted the conversation to go.

“Petey was such a chubby little baby,” Clint said, and he turned to Natasha. “Wasn't he?”

Natasha's eyes crinkled at the edges. “With the rosiest cheeks.”

“Hey, Gwen, let's go play laser tag!” Peter blurted, pulling her by the hand away from them, because he couldn't handle it anymore. 

Gwen laughed as she was dragged, before she waved at them. “Nice to meet you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: The party continues. Laser tag! Peter has questions for experts in radiation and maybe spiders.


	11. Open Mouth, Insert Foot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laser tag. A bit of research. And a chat.

The laser tag area was set up under a black tent covering a large portion of the parking lot. Underneath it, barrels, thin walls and hay stacks glowed with neon green, pink and blue paint by the black lights. It was a bit trippy, and while it wasn't as good as the laser tag danger room his dad had built for him once—what could, really?—it would do.

He and Gwen stood in one of the entrances, strapping into their gear. He put his own on like it was second nature, and he found himself reaching to help Gwen when she looked a little lost at all the straps and buckles. She held her hands up, watching him as he pulled the straps around her and buckled her in. "Too tight?" he asked, his fingers lingering on her sides.

She smiled at him, lowering her raised arms to lay her hands on his forearms. "Perfect," she said.

His face felt really hot all of the sudden, and he gave a high-pitched laugh of total embarrassment, before it devolved into coughing as he stepped back. "O-okay, well, the concept's simple." He drew his laser pistol out of the holster attached to the vest. "Shoot the guys not on our team—ah, that's everybody. If you get shot, your vest lights up and your gun stops working. And you have to go back to base to reset."

She nodded, tugging on the bottom of the vest a bit and biting her lip prettily. He couldn't believe he was about to play laser tag with the girl of his dreams.

"I guess there's no point in saying you can just stay behind me, and I'll protect you, is there?" he asked, and she just lifted a brow at him like he should know better. He sighed. "Right." He went over to the starting point, and she stood next to him, gun in hand.

"Alright, kids, there are six teams of two," said a voice over a speaker somewhere. "Three shots, and you are out. Last team standing wins. Have fun and be safe!"

Peter looked at Gwen and found her biting her lip again, and it looked so pink between her white teeth. He stumbled at the sound of a horn, unprepared as Gwen rushed out and quickly got under cover. He zipped out after her, hearing an indignant shout and the sound the vests made when they lit up, every bit like a pin ball machine. He ducked next to Gwen where she was crouched down, as small a target as she could be.

"I can lead, you know," he told her, glancing over the barrels they were behind.

"That doesn't sound like any fun at all," she told him, before she stood up and shot off twice. The sounds of pinballs and groaning soon followed as she ducked back down. At Peter's stare, she grinned. "I play a lot of Call of Duty on my brother's Xbox."

Peter very nearly blurted out 'marry me' at that. He followed her when she moved quickly behind a low wall, keeping his hand on her lower back as he moved backwards. He saw a flash of movement and popped of a shot before his brain really registered it. "Son of a bitch!" his target cried, and he knew that voice.

"Flash is out here," he said to Gwen, and she gave him wide eyes. He hadn't even known he was at the party. Sure, he'd invited the entire junior class, but he hadn't thought Flash would show. Flash hated him, especially after embarrassing him in the school hall.

Not that Flash hadn't embarrassed him loads of times.

Gwen pressed closer to look in the direction Flash had gone, her chin almost on his shoulder and her hand gripping his wrist. He had a silly moment to wax poetic about her perfume in his head before she gave him a determined look. "Let's kick his ass."

He grinned at her, nodding and she turned again to lean around the edge of the wall. She made a motion to follow her before she dashed out, shooting another girl as Peter took down two people that appeared behind them. They were a ridiculously good team. Gwen got shot once, but Peter took out the person that had done it. And when he managed to get himself shot trying to take out three people at once, Gwen held her own while he was resetting.

As Peter was leading and Gwen was holding onto the tail end of his vest, he felt her pause then heard a familiar "Fuck!" behind him. He turned to see Flash with his vest dancing with lights like a Christmas tree. Flash's eyes landed on him, and he bared his teeth. "I'll get you, Parker!" he called, before he stomped away.

"Oh good, that's all I've ever wanted," Peter said with a sigh.

Gwen just shrugged and looked at him. "He's a big baby," she told him.

"Yeah," he agreed, before he kept moving through the obstacles and cover set up. 

There were a significantly smaller number of targets to move through, and Peter was starting to think they'd gone through them all when he heard a frustrated shout and the sound of a vest. Then there was the tell-tale laugh and a 'suck it!' to let them know that Flash was still at large and that they would have to come across him eventually. They stayed low, listening and watching carefully in the darkness, the only light being the glow off the walls and the barrels. They heard another sound of a vest, this time a girl shouting out in irritation.

Peter reached behind him for Gwen, and he felt her fingers wrap around his hand. All of his breath rushed out of him at the feeling, and he turned to look at her. He didn't know how, because it shouldn't have been possible, but her eyes were clear and bright even in the darkness. And she was so pretty with her lips parted just so and a lock of hair falling into her face. She smiled at him, stepped closer so she was pressed up against his side. And it was so perfect until he felt the tingling at the base of his skull. He pointed the gun out to his other side without looking, pulling the trigger as he gazed into Gwen's eyes.

“Goddammit!” came Flash's voice, along with the sound of his vest, and Peter looked over with a self-satisfied smile. And Flash didn't seemed to like that much, because he holstered his gun and walked over, murder in his eyes. 

Peter's smile faded as he put himself between Flash and Gwen, that tingling going nuts. “Hey, man, it's just a game!” he tired to say, before Flash caught the front of his vest turned to bend him backwards over a barrel, his spine curving painfully. “Dude, seriously, there's no point to—”

“Shut up, Parker, just shut up!” Flash yelled in his face, rearing his arm back as his finger curled into a fist.

Peter's entire body became tense, and suddenly he was aware of everything around him. He knew at which angle Flash's fist was going to come down on him, and was prepared to catch it, twist his arm and maybe pull it out of socket— 

But then Gwen grabbed Flash's arm. “Flash, stop it!” she cried at him, digging her heels into the ground and pulling back on him. “You can't possibly think this is a good idea. This is Peter's party, and his parents are _Captain America_ and _Iron Man._ What do you think they'll do when they find out you've been beating him up?”

Flash continued staring at Peter, and it was as if Peter could see the gears turning in his head as he calculated the pros and cons and weighed his options. Finally he released the front of Peter's vest and stepped away, pulling his arm from Gwen's grip. “You won't be able to hide behind your girlfriend forever, Parker,” he grumbled, before he stomped off.

Peter straightened up, nodding when Gwen asked him if he was okay and straightened his vest for him. He was smiling a bit goofy, way too happy for someone who nearly had his face bashed in. “So, you're my girlfriend?” he asked, before he bit his bottom lip between his teeth.

Gwen looked through her eyelashes at him, before she gave a pretty little giggle and turned to give him a sideline glance. “Why? You want me to be your girlfriend, Peter Parker?”

He grinned all the wider, his cheeks hurting from the strain. “I do, Gwen Stacy.”

She scuffed the heel of her boot against the ground, taking his hand again. “Good. Me too.” She stared at him for a moment as he continued to smile, before she gave him a gentle shove. “Doofus,” she said, before she hurried to the exit of the tent with him hot on her heels.

Winning felt good.

They went back into ballroom, and eventually Peter got up the nerve to ask Gwen to dance. When she realized he didn't know how to dance, she put his hands in the right places and decided to lead with a gentle 'One and two, and three and four.' And he only stepped on her toes twice. When she got a text message from her father that he was on her way to get her at the end of the night, he went out front to wait with her. He put his arms around her when she shivered.

When Gwen's father arrived, he pulled up to the door and got out, leaving the door running. “So, you must be Peter,” he said, standing there with his hand on the door as Gwen walked around to the passenger side.

Peter stumbled over his own feet on his way to him, holding out his hand. “Yes, sir, I'm Peter Parker. It's great to meet you, Captain Stacy.” The man took his hand, giving it a firm squeeze, and Peter looked squarely into his eyes as he did so. 

“You too, Peter,” the Captain said, his eyes flicking behind Peter, before he released his hand.

Peter looked back and saw his dads standing in the archway of the hotel, before he turned his eyes back. Gwen waved at him over the top of the car, and he waved back, before he watched them drive off. He heaved a big sigh as he watched their tail lights disappear into traffic, before he looked over at his dad when his arm fell across his shoulders.

“That's a lovesick sigh if I've ever heard one,” Tony said, squeezing his shoulder, before he ruffled Peter's hair. And as Peter was trying to get it to obey again, he said, “So, tell us, any developments with Gwen we should know about?”

“You two seemed inseparable,” Steve said, standing on the opposite side of Peter and shoving his hands in the pockets of his khakis. 

Peter looked at the ground, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yeah,” he said, before he looked at them. “Gwen's my girlfriend now.” He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out one of the hotel cards, on the back of which she'd written her phone number.

“Huzzah!” Tony cried, before messing up Peter's hair again. “Let's go tell Clint and Natasha, and Steve can eat the leftover of the hor d'oeuvres.”

Steve laughed at that, and his arm replaced Tony's over Peter's shoulder when Tony walked through the doorway to spread the word. “I'm happy for you, Son,” he said, giving Peter a smile. “I know you'll treat her well.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Peter agreed as he walked back into the hotel with his father. “I'll do my best.”

###### 

Peter woke up early the day after the party, and after he had breakfast with his dads, he dug his cell phone and Gwen's number out of last night's pants. He debated calling her, but it was half past nine in the morning, and he didn't want to wake her if she was sleeping. For a minute or two he fantasized about how cute she must have been while sleeping. Her hair must have gone all over, and she would twist up in her sheets like a pretty caterpillar. He wondered if she snored. If she did, it probably sounded like a kitten purring.

He shook his head when he realized he was staring at the wall, smiling like a goof. He looked at his phone, before he took a breath and flipped up the screen to type out a quick text to her. 'Hey, what're you up to today?' he asked, before he went to go take a shower.

While he was lathering up his hair, he heard the distinct noise of his text message tone, and he smiled. Once clean, he hurried to pick his phone up and read, 'At Sunday mass. Then going to Chelsea to see my grandparents.'

So Gwen's family was Catholic? That he hadn't known. He had been to a few Catholic masses in his time. Steve went at least once a month, and sometimes he convinced Tony and Peter to go with him. Tony tended to act like a bored toddler, and Peter often wore his ear bud hoodie. Steve didn't mind as long as they were quiet. He was usually just happy they were there.

'Cool,' he typed, before he pressed his lips together and added, 'I hope you have a good day.'

It took only a couple moments before he received a text back that said, 'Thanks, Petey.'

He stared at the nickname, narrowing his eyes and vowing to murder Clint if he is given half the chance. He hadn't been called that seriously since he was a little kid, and now it was back to haunt him. He sighed heavily through his nose, before he got dressed and put his phone in his pocket. 

Now what to do with his day. He glanced around his room. He could head to the skate park and break in a new board. He could go to Xtreme Comics and check to see if they had a new shipments of figures. Or maybe he could get on Tumblr and have his life and time sucked away.

He looked at his computer, and his eyes landed on the pamphlet from OsCorp. He picked it up and held it in his hands. The shiny, colored layer of paper was already bending back from the creases for how many times he had read it. It hadn't given him enough information. Googling hadn't helped. Maybe he needed to talk to an expert.

He grabbed a notebook, shoving a pen into the spiral, and went out of his room to turn toward the elevator. Right as he got to it, it opened and his dad stepped out, looking just a little winded from his run with sweat dripping from his blond hair. Peter mused that he must have really pushed himself to get this result. Normally he could run laps around Central Park and never break a sweat.

"Hey, buddy," his dad said with a smile as he dabbed his forehead with the towel around his shoulders. "What're you up to today?"

"Uh, I'm going to visit Dr Banner," Peter said, his thumb anxiously plucking down the notebook's metal spiral. At Steve's lifted brows, he added, "I've got this paper for AP Physics, and I thought he could clear some things up for me."

Steve blinked once, before he shrugged. "It's certainly his area." He patted Peter's shoulder. "Send one of us a text it you're not going to be home for lunch."

"Sure, Dad, I will," Peter said as Steve walked by him, and a sick weight settled in his stomach. He'd never lied to him before. It didn't feel right. Hopefully he wouldn't have to do it again.

###### 

Dr Banner opened the door to his level and didn't look surprised at all to see Peter. JARVIS had most likely told him who he was, because Dr Banner didn't enjoy surprises, and he had probably called him 'Young Master Peter.'

"Hello, Peter," the good doctor said with a half smile. "What can I do for you?"

Peter smiled, before he pulled out the pamphlet and handed it to him. "I have some questions." He watched Dr Banner open the pamphlet and look through it curiously, but his eyes came up again, looking confused. "About radiation."

"Ah," Dr Banner said, before he stepped back and let Peter inside. "Well come in and follow me to my lab. I am working on something, but I can talk and work." He led Peter into a white room with tables, counters, a half a dozen computers, a spinning centrifuge and a single rolling desk chair that had a strip of silver duct tape on the arm from long time usage.

"I see Dad never talked you into letting him decorate your lab, Dr Banner," Peter said, sidling over to the centrifuge curiously.

"I'm not really interested in Queen and Led Zeppelin posters," Dr Banner replied with a snort and a smile, still looking through the pamphlet. "And please, call me Bruce. Did you get this at the science exhibit at OsCorp? I don't remember them handing these out."

Peter leaned against the counter with a shrug. "Gwen gave it to me."

That made Dr Bann—Bruce's smile go wider. "Ah, right, your new girlfriend."

Peter snorted, crossing his arms. "Wow, word travels fast."

"Tony texted me last night. 'Oh em gee, Peter has a gee eff.' I wonder if he thinks text speak is cool or if he's just lazy." Bruce said it in a fond kind of way, like Tony's quirks were adorable to him.

"I think he's just impatient. He complained that he hasn't been able to get a hold of Thor to spread the good word."

"I'm sure he'll give him an earful once he leaves Asgard again." Bruce looked back at the pamphlet, unfolding it completely. "So, radioactive spiders. What did you want to know?"

"Well," Peter began, pushing off the counter and going over to him. "The information given is all about the perks of the mutation, like how they live a really long time and have webbing that's super strong, but it doesn't explain the process the spiders went through. I was curious what kind of radiation they would have to use. And Gwen said the spiders are dosed endlessly with low level radiation to maintain their mutation."

Bruce's eyebrows went up, before he set down the pamphlet on the table and took off his glasses to clean them with his dress shirt. "Well, my best guess is gamma radiation," he said, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "I wouldn't be able to tell you the exact process the spiders went through without original research, but would you like my best guess?" 

"Sure," Peter said.

They talked for hours with Peter perched up on one of the tables, taking notes in his spiral notebook, and Bruce sitting in his chair. Bruce went into this kind of trance when he talked about science, and this subject matter was his element. In speculating about the spiders, he told stories about his own successes—short lived—and failures—many—while trying to induce mutations in animals. He had never experimented on insects or arachnids, however.

"You know," Bruce said after a pause. "Perhaps you should talk to Hank Pym."

"Oh?" Peter asked, tossing a stress ball shaped like a brain between his hands. It was well used.

"Yeah, he might be more equipped to tell you what kind of experimenting a spider's body can handle."

"Hm," Peter mused, before he took a breath then tossed the stress ball to Bruce. "Haven't seen him in a while. I probably can't drop in like I did on you."

"Get Janet's number. She'll arrange it. You know how much she adores you." Bruce set the stress toy on his desk, shooting him a grin.

Peter blushed, because it was well known that Janet van Dyne was the first woman he had ever had a crush on. He had in fact proposed to her when he was seven-years-old. He coughed and hopped down off the table, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. The healing bump there reminded him of a question he needed to ask.

"Hey, Doc?" he asked, and Bruce looked up from his computer, which was scrolling with equations. "What do you think would happen if you got bitten by one of those spiders?"

One of Bruce's eyebrows went up. "Well, being exposed to irradiated venom is extremely unsafe. At best, a very bad spider bite and at worst, rapid deterioration of exposed cells." He scratched his cheek, before he gave a shrug. "There's no way to tell without trials, and I doubt anyone would volunteer."

Peter gave a kind of pathetic laugh. "Yeah."

Bruce smiled at him. "You know, Dr Richard Parker was a brilliant man to have accomplished a steady mutation in a living organism. You should be proud that all of your fathers are extraordinary."

Peter had no idea what to say to that, so he just nodded, said "Thanks, Doc," and left.

###### 

After asking his dad for Janet's phone number, he flopped back on his bed and dialed off the piece of paper he'd been given. He put it to his ear, listening to it ring. He hadn't talked to Janet in three years, maybe. She had only recently come back to the country from Wakanda with Hank. On the third ring, she picked up with a casual greeting. “Hey, Janet, it's Peter,” he said, balling up the piece of paper with her number on it and tossing it towards the trash bin.

“Peter...?” she asked, holding out the name.

“Parker. Peter Parker,” he said, hesitant suddenly. 

“Oh Peter!” she cried, and he was immediately relieved. “Peter, sweetheart, hi! How are you? I'm sorry Hank and I couldn't come to your party. We've been swamped since we got home.”

“Oh no, no, don't even worry about it. I think my dads and Clint and Natasha embarrassed me enough in your absence.” He covered his eyes, remembering it vividly.

“Really? Why's that?”

Oh, _abort, abort,_ could he change the subject now? Probably not. He sighed. “Okay, well, there's this girl—”

Janet squealed, and he had to pull the phone away from his ear. When he put it back, she was going a mile a minute. “What's her name? What's she like? Is she pretty? I bet she's gorgeous, you little heart breaker. I knew you'd grow up to be a stud and have all the girls fawn over you.” She sighed, sounding nostalgic suddenly. “You're just like your parents. You know, there was a time when I thought I was going to end up with Tony instead of Hank. Your father used to flirt with me shamelessly. I thought Hank was going to deck him at one point.”

Laughter bubbled out of Peter, and he covered his eyes with his hand. “I don't doubt it. He would have deserved it too.” Janet made a noise of agreement. “Anyway, her name is Gwen, and she's super pretty. And she's totally smart too. She interns at OsCorp.”

“Ha! I bet Tony _loves_ that. He is not Norman Osborn's biggest fan. But that's great. The internships at OsCorp are great stepping stones. What field does she work in?”

“Cross-species genetics.”

Janet gave a little whistle. “Don't let her near Bruce. You'll probably never see her again.” There was a rustling and a muffled voice, like Janet moved the phone against her chest to talk to someone else. “Look, sweetie, I've got to go. Is there something specific you called for?”

“Oh, yeah, actually I need to see Hank. I've got this paper. Bruce said he would be able to help.” He bit his lip. “But if he's too busy, I—”

“Oh no, that's fine. I manage his schedule, so I can find some free time for you two to chat. If I didn't manage anything, he wouldn't eat, sleep or bathe. He's like a kid. Anyway! Is it okay if I text you, maybe tomorrow, about when he has time to talk?”

“Sure,” he said.

“Great. It was fun talking to you. Bye, honey.”

“Bye, Jan,” he replied, and he heard a click before a dial tone. He slid his phone closed and let his head fall back on the pillow, sighing. Now that was done he wasn't sure what he should do. Tumblr sounded good. He turned his head to look at his computer, and it seemed so far away suddenly. He sighed, before he flipped his phone open and typed out a message to Gwen that said, 'Hey, what're you up to?'

He didn't expect an answer right away, but it was twenty minutes before his phone rang, and by that point he was practically dozing with Pixie lying next to him. He looked at the face of his phone and saw Gwen's picture, so he opened it and put it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Save me,” she said with a groan. “I am beyond bored right now.”

He smiled a little too wide. “Yeah, me too, so what are you not doing that has you so bored?”

“Well! My grandpa's trying to teach wood carving to my brothers, and my grandma's been after me to instruct me at needlepoint. I've ducked into a spare room, and I'm contemplating diving out the window. We're not leaving until after dinner, and by then I'll have put a hole in the wall by banging my head against it.”

Peter snorted out a laugh, before he covered his mouth. “I'm sorry, it's not funny. I'd come and rescue you if I could.”

“My hero.”

“Yeah, right. Want me to send one of my dads?”

“Oh, yes, send Captain America. He and my grandpa can swap war stories.” She paused. “Actually, don't do that.”

Her voice was so different suddenly that he was concerned. “Why?”

“My grandpa's not very accepting of—you know—that lifestyle.”

Peter was quiet for a long time. “Oh.”

“Not that I have any problem with it, you know. I mean, I think it's really cool what they're doing, you know, getting married and raising a kid. It's—It's really... nice.” She stopped, dragging in a sigh and then giving a little moan. “Well, this is a really nice hole I've dug for myself. I think I'll just stay here.”

“It's okay,” Peter said, smiling despite himself. Yeah, it was totally awkward and stuff, but to hear her flustered like that was nice. And that she was trying meant something. “Nobody really knows what to say when it comes up that I have two dads. I mean, at least you're not accusing me of being gay by association—”

“I wouldn't do that. That's an asshole thing to say.”

Peter chuckled. “You know, you curse more than I do.”

“That comes from having a cop for a father. He tries not to, but it slips when he goes on rants about the judicial system or a case or something. My mom's giving up on yelling about it.”

“Oh yeah, my dad, um, Steve, Captain America, the other day he said, 'Language, young man,' and when he closed the door I heard my other dad laugh about it.” He sat up, and Pixie shifted, putting her head in his lap. “So what does your dad think about it, me having two dads, I mean?”

“Oh, he's a lot more accepting. He always says people should do what they want as long as it's not breaking the law or interfering with the jobs of those that enforce the law. He's actually more concerned with what they do, you know, as superheroes.” Her voice changed, going a little higher. “He appreciative when the Avengers help with, like, alien attacks and supervillians, but he also thinks that they kind of—um—undermine the efforts of law enforcement, and now cops don't get as much respect.” She went quiet.

“I see,” Peter said as he looked down at Pixie, and she stared back up at him. “You know that's not what they mean to happen, right? My dads, all of the Avengers, they all have the utmost respect for cops.”

“I know, I know. It's not what they do, it's what the public thinks.” There was a thump on the other end of the line, and Peter could only guess what it was. Maybe she smacked a wall. “This wonderful hole of mine keeps getting deeper.”

“I like you anyway,” he said, and he meant it.

She gave a wry little chuckle. “Thanks. I like you too.” There was the sound of another voice, faint and unintelligible, and it caused her to sigh loudly. “My mom just found me. I guess I have to go. Maybe next time we talk we can discuss things that aren't social issues like the teenagers we're supposed to be.”

“Like the latest Quinton Tarantino movie?” he suggested with a grin.

“Gross! What about Justin Bieber?”

“Now that's gross.”

She giggled. “Bye, Peter.”

“Bye.” He pulled the phone away and slid it closed, before he laughed to himself. “She's silly,” he told Pixie as he patted her head. “And I really, really like her.”

Before he could rant dreamily to his robot dog about his girlfriend, there was a knock on his door. He looked up as Steve leaned in, giving him a smile. “Hey, buddy, can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked.

Peter luckily could keep his panicking inside, thinking oh shit his parents might have found out about the spider. Be cool, be cool. He swallowed and scooted up against the headboard of his bed. “Uh, yeah sure, what's up? Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No. You're fine.” Steve came in and sat down on the bed near his feet, and Pixie immediately nosed his shoulder for a pet. “It's just time that we have a talk.” Peter just stared at him, uncomprehending. If he wasn't in trouble, what did they need to speak about. “You know, _the talk_.” Peter squinted at him. “About girls—” Steve swallowed. “—and sex.”

Peter's eyes blew wide open, and he immediately started shaking his head. “No, no, no!” he cried, flopping onto his side and pulling his pillows up like he was trying to bury himself. “No, please, no!”

“Peter,” Steve said, reaching over and putting his hand on his knee. He didn't sound as confident as he usually was. “I just want you to know that I understand you're going to have these urges—”

“Please stop talking!” Peter whined, pulling the pillows closer. Suffocation was better than this.

“We just want you to be safe. And I want you to respect any girl you choose to do anything with.”

“Daaaaaad!”

“And if you need condoms, all you need to do is ask.”

Peter gave a loud sob. “You know what I'm gonna need? Therapy.”

Good talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, this chapter took forever to get up. It doesn't help that I was sick, wrote an [entirely different story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/722716) (with porn), and my Net was down for a while when I wanted to submit. Sigh! Oh well, now that I've recovered from both mental and physical turmoil, I can get back to updating regularly.
> 
> Speaking of, I am looking for a beta reader to correct grammar and inconsistencies in past (laaaate) and future chapters, as well as Steve/Tony porn written on the side. Comment if you're interested. :D Thanks.


	12. Grief Stage: Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is happy about his abilities and starts making plans to put them to use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events of this chapter coincide with the 2012 movie The Amazing Spider-Man, mostly. Later, there will be more references to comics and even the cartoon Ultimate Spider-Man.

Gwen and Peter were walking casually around the track that surrounded the football field during their free period. Peter had his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to grab her hand and lace their fingers. "So the pictures of the debate team came out really well," he told her, looking at his shoes instead of at her.

"Oh really?" she asked, and he looked over at her shoes, a pair of blue boots that crossed over each other as she walked.

"Yeah, I mean you always look good. You were the only person I didn't touch up." He stumbled a little when she pushed him, and he looked up at her face to find her smiling with an exasperated edge. "What?"

"You have the corniest lines, you know that?" she asked him with a shoulder nudge, before she wrapped her arms around his elbow and leaned her cheek into his shoulder. The closeness and the heat of her skin, even through clothes, made a rush of air leave his lungs. "Do they ever work on anybody?"

He just gave her a lopsided grin. "I don't know. Do they?"

She put her nose against his shoulder and looked through her lashes at him. "Kind of."

"I'll take it," he said, leaning his head to nuzzle his forehead against hers and earning a giggle for his troubles.

Then his cell phone buzzed in his pocket, and he dug it out to look at the face, seeing Janet's name. "Oh, this is a friend of my dads, hang on just a sec." He flipped open the face and putting it to his ear. "Hey, Janet, what's up?"

"Oh hey Peter, I wasn't sure you'd answer. Aren't you at school?"

"Yeah, I've got a free track. So I'm just hanging out." He grinned at Gwen, and she stuck her little pink tongue out at him.

"I wish I had free tracks. I talked to Hank, and he has an opening next Wednesday around five. Is that too late to get the information you need for your paper?"

"Oh, no, that's perfect. The assignment isn't due for a while now. No sweat." Gwen lifted a brow at him, and he longed to lean in and kiss it. "It's no trouble, right? I know how busy you two are."

"It's fine, really. It'll actually be good for him to talk to someone that isn't me. I swear he would have married an ant queen if I hadn't stuck around." 

"That's an awesome mental image," Peter said with a shudder.

Janet just gave an adorable snorting laugh. "Well, I have to go. I'll probably see you for a little bit next Wednesday. Bye, Peter."

"Later, Jan." He slid his phone closed and put it back in his pocket, before he extracted his arm from Gwen's grasp and put it around her shoulders. "Now where were we?"

Gwen put one arm around his middle, her fingers gripping his hip in a way that made him want to press his front against her. "You were being a dork, and I was silently judging you."

He huffed out a laugh. "So same as usual."

###### 

After school, Peter went to the skate park to break in his newest board. He sat on one of the benches in the viewing area, fiddling with the wheels and trying to urge the joints to tilt easier. They were still stiff, but he was sure that an hour or so under his weight would loosen them up. He didn't go on any of the ramps right away, instead just rolling around the outside to get a feel for this board.

He missed his old board, but the poor thing was so worn out that the screws had pulled right through the wood. There was only so much patching up he could do before he had to retire it, so now it was fixed to his ceiling next to a model airplane he and Steve had painted when he was nine.

The new board did fine with ollies and going lazily up and down the half pipe, so he decided to put it to a grind and see how it balanced. And it did fine for a half of a second before it shot out from under him and suddenly the rail was coming up fast between his legs.

Peter didn't even have time to think _oh no, my boys!_ before he came to a surprisingly painless stop. He cracked one eye open and looked down to find his hands curled around the bar, and his entire body was being held up by his arms alone like he weighed nothing. Peter had never had upper-body strength before. But he could feel his muscles flexing, and it felt effortless. He let out a confused, appreciative laugh, before he brought up his legs and perched on his toes.

"Hey man," said another skater as he rolled over to him and skidded to a halt. He had Peter's board under his arm. He blinked at him, taking in his pose. "Nice reflexes. I thought you got racked for sure."

"I thought I was gonna too," Peter told he with a big, sheepish smile. "Thanks for catching my board."

"No problem," the guy said, holding it out for him to take.

And Peter did try to take it. He tried to uncurl his fingers from the bar, but they wouldn't budge. There was no pain like his fingers were locked or anything. It felt more like his skin was suddenly double sided tape. He strained, and the guy watched, obviously confused. Peter gave another weird laugh as he pulled at his hands. "My fingers must have cramped out of fear," he told him, before he gave an extra hard tug, pushing off with his feet, and he fell right off the bar.

After that, Peter decided to leave the skate park.

He went to an abandoned building in the industrial district, a place he liked to go when he wanted to think. It opened up into a construction area, and there was a huge hollow pipe, big enough to fit a semi through, that had probably been meant for the sewers before it was given up on. Peter dropped his bag, including his phone, at the mouth of the pipe, before he got on his board. He went up and down each side, pushing the board further and further each time.

What was happening to him? Whatever it was, he had to admit he was pretty sweet, but Bruce's words still lingered in the back of his mind. What if all this, all these abilities, were just symptoms for something terrible? What if his body was going to start breaking down any day? He should probably have Bruce run tests, just to be safe. Of course the information would find its way back to his parents, and they would flip out.

Another thought came to him, as he thought of his parents. What if, instead of the irradiated spider venom destroying his body, it was doing the opposite? The super soldier serum had turned his father into a hero. Gamma radiation had given Bruce an unstoppable alter ego. Radiation from sun flares had turned a group of people into the Fantastic Four and Doctor Doom. The list went on.

What if Peter was meant to become a superhero? That was every kid's dream, right?

He pushed the board too far while thinking, ending up almost upside down before gravity got the better of him and tried to pull him back down. He gasped and lashed out with his hands, ending up dangling from his fingertips and toes. He looked down to where his board clattered against the cement floor of the pipe, eyes going wide. Okay, so he could stick to things. That was neat.

He looked at that mouth of the pipe, before he tugged at one hand. It came unstuck infinitely easier this time, so he put it in front of him and started to crawl. Upside down. His heart was beating so fast, and he couldn't stop the stupid grinning. When he got to the mouth of the pipe, he swung himself up on top of it and stood up, breathing fast and excited. He wanted to stick to everything. He wondered how high he could get.

He looked at the opposite send of the pipe, where there was a half built building, two stories of cement and then another three of scaffolding. He took a deep breath as he looked up at the top, where a beam was dangling from strong wires. He bet he could up there and sit on the end of it. It would be one hell of a view. He took off running down the pipe, blood rushing in his ears, and he leapt off the end, sailing through the air at an amazing speed before he collided with the wall of the building.

He grunted, his cheek smashed against the cement. "Gotta work on my landings," he said, before he drew back and looked up. "I have plenty of time." And he started to climb. Once he reached that beam and was sitting on the end of it, looking out through Lower Manhattan to the bay, he smiled. He felt invincible, and it was a nice feeling.

###### 

It was nine at night before Peter had enough of sticking to walls and swinging from chains. He marveled at his ability to see in the dark so clearly before he finally headed home. The whole time on the subway, he was looking at the signs plastering the inside of the car. He had never noticed them before, never cared, but now as adrenalin coursed through his veins, he could see every detail.

He danced between his feet on the elevator of the tower, humming to himself and wondering what his superhero name should be. He needed to get a costume too. What colors? Hm. He liked red a lot. And blue. Would red and blue look good together? He knew red, white and blue looked good. And red and gold worked, so red and blue would be fine. Yeah. That sounded great.

He could just see it now. He was going to be the next big superhero, and after he'd stopped a few robberies and saved some kittens from trees, everyone would be wondering who he was. And then he'd drop in on an Avengers meeting, unmask himself and say "I'm a hero too." And then he would join them. And his dads would be so proud of him.

He stepped out of the elevator, and the hallway was dark. He could see light spilling from the living room and the sound of the TV. So he walked in as casually as he could. His dads were watching some program together, Steve's arm over the back of the could and Tony leaning into him. "Hey," he said easily, making a beeline for the kitchen. "Any leftovers?"

"Peter, there you are," he heard Steve say behind him, and he dropped his bag in a chair before opening the fridge. "We called you twice. Where were you?" He didn't sound upset, just a bit concerned. Peter didn't usually stay out with no contact.

He looked at them still on the couch and gave a sheepish smile. "I was skating and lost track of time. My phone was in my bag." He looked at it, where his board was strapped to it. "I didn't even think to check my messages."

"Oh," Steve said, before he glanced at Tony before he got up and moved into the kitchen. "Well, son, we'd appreciate a call next time you stay out this late, especially if you miss dinner." Steve set his hand on his shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. "We were worried." He leaned into the fridge to pull out the remainder of that night's dinner.

"We go into crazy parent mode when we don't know where you are," Tony said, and Peter looked over at him. He was still sitting on the couch, but he had turned and put one arm on the back, folding a leg under him. "We start coming up with all these scenarios as to why you're missing. The mildest one is that you've gotten kidnapped. I was starting to think you'd gotten abducted by aliens."

Steve stood up with containers in his hands and kicked the fridge shut. "And I was thinking that you and Gwen had eloped and left the state." He started fixing Peter a plate.

Peter just smiled. "I'm sorry to disappoint." He moved his bag out of the chair and dug his phone out. Sure enough, two calls from Steve's number and a text from Gwen. "I won't do it again."

"We know you won't," Steve said as he put the plate in the microwave. "And we trust you." He ruffled Peter's hair before putting the containers up. "Now eat your dinner and do your homework." He went back to the couch to join Tony.

"Yes, sir," Peter replied, fighting not to fondly role his eyes.

He ate his dinner, beef tips with potatoes and veggies, which was one of his favorites, and finished up some history homework before he went into his room. He belatedly remembered the text from Gwen. It was just a standard, 'Hey, how's it going?'

He glanced at the clock—just after ten—and hoped it wasn't too late. He texted back, 'Just saw your text. I was busy all day. It's going great. You?'

It took a couple minutes, but the reply was, 'Good. Just got out of the shower, so I'm trying to get my hair to behave.'

Peter's lizard brain immediately chimed in. _Naked naked naked._ He shook his head, blushing high on his cheeks. 'Tell it to obey or you'll cut it off. Works for mine.'

To that, Gwen said, 'And here I thought the bedhead look was accidental.'

Peter smiled, because that was pretty much right. 'My dad says that it actually takes effort to look exceptionally uncaring.'

'Lol. I can guess which dad you're talking about. Speaking of parents, mine want you to come over sometime for dinner. What about this weekend?'

Peter stared at that message, his heart leaping into his throat. Her parents wanted him over for dinner? To get to know him? Was he going to get a shovel speech from Captain Stacy? He swallowed, and it hurt a bit. 'That sounds great. But this weekend I'm going to my aunt and uncle's house.'

'Oh,' was Gwen's reply. 'I didn't know you had any other family. Are they related to you by blood?'

Peter flopped back against his pillows. 'Yeah. Ben and May Parker. They're the reason I still have that last name. I wanted to keep a solid connection with them. I've stay with them one weekend a month since I was a kid. It's part of the open adoption agreement.'

'That's really sweet, Peter. Beyond my grandparents, I only talk to my extended family via Facebook.'

Smiling at that, Peter said, 'We should be friends on Facebook.'

'We should,' Gwen agreed. 'That way I can change my relationship status.'

He tried not to make too loud of a noise at that. Being boyfriend and girlfriend on Facebook meant being boyfriend and girlfriend for real. He tumbled out of his bed and rushed to his computer. This was very important.

###### 

When Peter wasn't around, Tony didn't quite feel right. Sure it meant he and Steve could cuddle on the couch without getting gagged at, make out like teenagers and have loud marathon sex. But he liked having his kid around. He liked helping him with his homework, building things with him—though that had become infrequent now—and just generally being a dad. He never thought he would become one of those parents to define himself by his kid, but that's what had happened.

He could tell that Steve felt the same way. He was never completely at ease while Peter was with Ben and May. He tried to hide it, but Tony had been with him long enough to know the signs. The tightness to his eyes, the set of his jaw, and the chewing of the inside if his lip all pointed to anxiousness. He also liked to hold Tony just a touch tighter.

He and Steve kept busy. Tony would design, build and work on things, Avengers related and not. Steve would draw, paint and go over S.H.I.E.L.D. paperwork to stay up to date. Tony was happy Steve liked to do that, because it made him want to flop down on the floor and whine.

And then there was the sex. Well. Eighteen years together did little to slick their attraction for each other. They had just gotten better at getting each other off.

Tony walked his bare toes up Steve's leg, focusing on his Alfredo penne and chicken. He smiled as he felt Steve's leg move, obviously spreading them so he could access those meaty thighs of his. He dug in his toes, looking up over his glass of water. Steve smiled at him, quirking up a brow before his hand caught Tony's foot. 

Tony chuckled as Steve rubbed his thumb over the ball of his foot, fidgeting and shifting in his chair. He wasn't ticklish, per se, but it was a strange feeling. Maybe he needed to put his feet in Steve's lap more often. He spread out his toes and just enjoyed the impromptu massage, going back to his dinner. And eventually he squeaked when Steve popped his toes.

"So, Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead tonight," Steve said after the extra food was put away, and he was putting the dishes in the sink.

Tony came up behind him, slipping his hands into his back pockets while pressing up against him. "Dragons and zombies. My kind of night." He nuzzled his nose into Steve's neck as he tipped his head back.

Too Much Time On My Hands by Styx suddenly drifted in from the living room, and Tony looked over. That was Peter's ringtone. "Just a sec," he told his impossibly lovely husband, before he bounded into the living room and picked up his phone off a side table. He slid the face open and put it to his ear. "Hey, Peter, what's up?"

"Uncle Ben's dead."

Tony's heart seized, and he made some kind of hitched noise. "Oh my God," he said, turning to look at Steve, and his expressed must have looked pretty distressed, because Steve crossed the floor to him with long, quick strides to touch his arm. "We'll be there soon, okay buddy? We're coming to you."

There was a choked sob, and Tony could hardly stand it. "Okay."

There were police in the house when Tony and Steve arrived. Some of them were talking to May, consoling her, and others were looking over a sketch of the suspect. Peter was standing in the corner, bracketed by the wall and a bookcase, and looking very small. His eyes were on the floor, and his hands were in fists at his sides. He was biting his lip.

Tony went to him immediately, putting his hands on his shoulders so that Peter looked at him. His eyes were red, puffy, and his nose was leaking, but his expression was so shocked, unbelieving. Tony pulled him close, hugging him tight, and Steve's arms came around them both. Peter didn't hug them back. His arms hung at his sides, limp. He was trembling.

Tony didn't let Peter go even as Steve moved away to talk to one of the cops and ask what happened. "The suspect robbed a convenience store, and the victim got in the way of his escape," the officer relayed softly. "The suspect shot him once in the midsection and then fled the scene. Paramedics were unable to revive the victim."

"His name was Benjamin Parker," Peter suddenly said loudly, pulling away from Tony enough to glare at the cop. "Not 'the victim.' And he—he was—" Tears began rolling down his face as he gave an angry sob, and Tony pulled him close again.

"I know, Peter, shh," Tony told him, petting his hair as Peter's hands came up and gripped the back of his jacket tight. "I've got you, son. It's going to be okay." He pressed lips into Peter's temple.

"No, it's not." Peter drew back, raising his hands to scrub at his face, and that was when Tony noticed the blood on his sleeves. "I was there. I should have done something. I could've—if I'd just—"

"No, don't do that," Tony told him firmly, taking his face in his hands and making him look him in the eyes. "Don't think like that."

Peter just pulled away and gave him the most heartbreaking look. "How can I not?"

Tony swallowed and tried to reach for him again, but Peter side stepped him and went towards May. He shrank away from Steve's effort to hug him, moving past him and going to her. She put her arms around him when he knelt next to her at the dining table. She shook as she held him, sobbing quietly.

Tony looked on helplessly, feeling distant from the whole thing. Sure he and Steve had known Ben for fifteen years and had seen him during birthdays and holidays, but he was Peter's uncle. There had always been a wall there, an inability to really connect. And now Tony was really feeling that gap. And he couldn't even comfort his kid.

Steve came over to him, putting his arm around Tony's shoulders and pulling him into a hug. He didn't say anything, just sighed into his hair. Tony closed his eyes and pressed his face into Steve's neck.

Later, long after the cops left, May was so worn out physically and emotionally that she was nearly falling down. Peter took her upstairs to bed while Tony waited with Steve on the couch. When he came back down, he leaned in the entrance way of the living room and looked at him, so drained.

"I'm gonna stay here," Peter said in an emotionless voice, putting his hands in his pockets.

Tony knew this was coming, but he hadn't wanted to think about it. "For tonight?" he asked.

"No, for longer." Peter dropped his eyes from them and to the floor.

"How long?" Steve asked. He was sitting with his elbows on his knees and lips against his laced fingers. It was his distressed-but-hiding-it pose.

Peter shrugged a shoulder slowly, like it took effort. "I don't know." He went quiet, and silence stretched between them. "I can't leave Aunt May alone."

Tony took a breath, wanting to be his normal selfish self and tell Peter that, no, he belonged with them. They would work through this as a family. But he couldn't summon those words. He couldn't hurt Peter more when he already looked so broken. So he nodded. “We understand.”

###### 

The next time Peter saw his dads was two days later at the funeral. He had talked to them on the phone in the time between, but he had as gently as possible told them he'd rather just be with Aunt May, his voice strained and his emotions wrung out. When Tony brought him his suit for the funeral, he could barely look him in the eyes. He returned any hugs from his parents loosely, his arms feeling like sand bags, and he nodded to anything they said.

He stood with Aunt May as the coffin was being lowered into the ground, his arm around her and his other hand in his jacket pocket so Gwen didn't try to hold it. He had regretted inviting her to the funeral the moment he saw her dressed in black. It wasn't fair to ask her to come to this kind of gathering. They hadn't even been together a month yet. And now she was probably feeling completely obligated to be comforting.

The worst part, by far though, was looking over the coffin at his dads standing opposite them. They kept looking at him, and he kept trying to avoid their gaze. He felt like he'd failed them, failed Aunt May and failed himself. He wanted to be a superhero, one of the good guys, and yet he'd promptly broken the hero code. He'd let a bad guy get away because he'd felt the convenience store owner that had been robbed had deserved for being a jerk. 

And because of that, now his Uncle Been was dead. He wasn't a hero. He was a damn disgrace. If his parents and Aunt May knew what had transpired, he wouldn't have been getting kind words and embraces from them. They would have been looking at him in disgust. Aunt May would probably never want to see him again. And here he was, too much of a coward to own up to what he'd done.

Uncle Ben would have been the most disappointed in him. He had always tried to instill in him responsibility. It was his duty as a decent person to help others, he had told him. And he had thought that philosophy was all well and good, but he hadn't thought it applied to assholes that most definitely wouldn't help him if given the chance. Did they even deserve it?

These were the thoughts that bogged down Peter's mind. At the reception, he sat in a chair in the corner, staring at the ground. He felt like there was a fog around him, figures moving through it like they were swimming through murky water. He vaguely recognized the people that came up to him to offer their condolences. Thor's hand was a heavy weight on his shoulder, and he thought it would have been comforting at any other time. Natasha didn't touch him, only spoke in low, muted tones. Clint called him 'kiddo.' Bruce sat with him for a little while, his hand on his arm. Pepper told him that he could call her if he wanted to talk. Janet crushed him into a hug, murmuring about how sorry she was. Hank echoed her words from a careful distance.

Finally Peter had had enough. Aunt May and Uncle Ben's friends, people he didn't really know, tried to comfort him, he retreated upstairs and into his room. And he just stood there in the middle of the floor, new tears starting to trek down his hot, sore cheeks. _It's your fault,_ his brain kept telling him, and the pain in his heart was sharp. He didn't know what to do.

He turned slowly around in his room, his eyes rolling over his things. His bed looked appealing. Maybe he should just lie down and bury his face in his pillow until his body eventually shut down and pulled him into sleep. His window was an equally good option. He could just wall crawl down to the small space between this house and the next and take off. It's not like he was doing any good in this house, and he couldn't handle this damn misery anymore.

His eyes landed on the police sketch of the man that had shot Uncle Ben, and his jaw set so hard a muscle jumped. Even thinking about him made Peter want to scream and punch his walls until his knuckles shattered. When he'd first seen him reach over and grab dig the money out of the register drawer, he'd thought that he was just a crook, stealing for whatever reason dirty reason people steal. But then he'd tossed Peter that chocolate milk and winked at him, and Peter had felt a flare of camaraderie. Maybe he was just stealing because he had fallen on hard times and had no choice, and he'd picked the perfect jerk to steal from. And then he'd shot Uncle Ben.

Peter pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, seeing red and then white. He heard a knock on his door before it opened and Gwen's voice called his name. He dropped his hands, not looking at her. She came in and moved in front of him, putting her arms around his neck and pulling him in close. He wrapped his arms loosely around her, staring over her should at the police sketch with the most violent glare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ran away with itself. I had planned on adding more, but I just have to cut it off here. Updates will be swift from now on, because I had all these chapters planned out long before I started writing this story.
> 
> Still looking for a beta reader if anyone's interested.
> 
> Next chapter: Vigilante.


	13. Still Angry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone deals with things in their own way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for drug references and brief homosexual slurs.

Tony did not handle funerals well. He hated seeing people crying, especially when he didn't know who they were. He hadn't met any of Ben's or May's friends before, so being surrounded by unfamiliar people all red eyed and sniffling made him want to retreat. It didn't help that the one person he wanted to comfort most had pulled away from him completely. Peter accepted hugs stiffly and didn't raise his eyes from the floor. And eventually he disappeared. Tony didn't have the heart to go find him right away.

But he and Steve stayed through the reception until the guests left, even Gwen. They both talked to May, sitting at her dining table and offering her any assistance that she might need. Tony was more than able to support her financially through this, even if he wasn't good at any other kind of support. Steve held her in his arms, and she looked so small and fragile against him. 

They peeked in on Peter before they left, but he was curled up in his bed with his back to them, looking small himself. They offered goodbyes, and he didn't move. When they got home, Steve went to take a shower, and Tony walked numbly into their kitchen, feeling all the world like a zombie. He grabbed the top of a chair and dragged it over in front of the fridge, getting up onto it to access the small cabinet that was far too high for him to reach. He pushed unused kitchen appliances out of the way and reached into the back to grab onto a crystal bottle of scotch. 

He hopped down from the chair, setting the scotch on the counter and getting a glass to pour himself two fingers worth. And after that, he just stared at the amber liquid, knowing for a fact that it was aged beyond perfection and probably tasted like heaven. He heard the padding of Steve's bare feet on the tile floor, before a hand landed on his shoulder, and he came to rest at his side.

But then Steve halted, his eyes on the glass in Tony's hand. “What're are you doing?” he asked, sounding shocked and almost betrayed. His hand dropped away from Tony's shoulder.

“I'm thinking about having a drink,” Tony answered him honestly, swirling the liquid around.

Steve took a deep breath in through his nose, and his hand came in front to land on Tony's wrist. “Why would you do a thing like that?”

Finally Tony looked at Steve, and he didn't bother shielding the emotion in his eyes or on his face. Steve's brows immediately bowed sadly, and his hand tightened on his wrist. “I can't help my kid,” he said shakily, the fingers of his free hand squeaking across the counter top. “I can't comfort him, because he doesn't want it. I can't offer him a warm home, because he isn't here. I'm fucking Iron Man, and I can't bring him justice, because I can't go stepping on the toes of the NYPD and make them hate me more. I'm helpless, and I haven't felt like this since—” His breath seized, and he turned his head away. He squeezed his eyes shut as screaming thoughts raced through his mind.

“Tony,” Steve said, a strained note to his gentle voice. “You've been sober for twenty one years.”

Tony let out a sharp sigh through his nose. “Twenty years, nine months and three days.”

Steve shifted closer, putting pressure on Tony's wrist so he lowered the glass to the counter. “Do you want to throw all those years away? Don't you remember what you went through getting clean?”

Tony remembered. He closed his eyes, and the events played out clearly across the insides of his eyelids. He had been in a bad way by the time he decided to get clean. He'd needed at least four drinks a day to function, and if he didn't have it, he started to shake. More than once, during the heat of battle, his body would crave alcohol, and his performance would suffer. Counter point to that, he had gotten into his suit one too many times while intoxicated.

He had wanted to get clean on his own, to prove to himself and the others that he was a big boy and didn't need any help. He'd gone all of one day without a drink before he caved. He had leaned against the liquor cabinet, blitzed out of his mind and sobbing. 'I can't do it,' he had kept telling the room, gripping the neck of a vodka bottle tight. 'I can't.'

JARVIS had known what must be done, and he overrode his own programming to call for assistance from the rest of the Avengers, as well as Rhodey and Pepper. And his friends and comrades were immune to excuses such as 'but that's a $350 bottle of cognac' and 'I just need one more drink, then I'll stop.' He'd watched, whining and cursing as his alcohol collection was poured down the drain. At one point Thor had picked him up and carried him out of the room to subdue him in bed after he'd begged Pepper for just a little scotch.

Tony wished he didn't remember what happened after that. After the shaking started, he'd thought he was going to be left to his own devices, but Pepper and Rhodey stayed with him. He remembered their calm, soothing hands on his back as he vomited anything in his stomach. They held him as he whimpered, sweating and convulsing from his body tearing itself apart inside. He thrashed through the night in their arms, telling him he couldn't do it.

When Rhodey and Pepper left, Steve took their place. They hadn't even been in a relationship at the time, not even close, but Steve had told him through the fog of pain and nausea that Tony was his teammate and he cared for him. Then Steve held him, flushed against his front in the bed. And when Tony had told him that he needed a drink, that he couldn't handle it anymore, Steve had told him, 'Yes, you can, Tony. You're strong.'

Tony had wanted to be strong. Steve stayed with him until his withdrawal symptoms had finally subsided as the others came and went, checking on him. Rhodey and Pepper, of course. Bruce had sat in the bed and read to him. Clint had told him stories from his circus days. Natasha had pet his hair and hummed to him until he slept. Thor hadn't said anything, just climbed into the bed and locked arms with Steve so he was sandwiched because two blond muscle gods, literal and non. 

It took a while, but after those days he started to feel sharper than he had in a long time. 

He looked at the tumbler of scotch again, swallowing. “I've had this bottle ever since then,” he admitted, his brows coming together. The hand Steve wasn't using to hold his wrist came up, fingers going through the white hairs above his ears. He leaned into the touch. “I got it at a function. A gift. And I put it away for a special occasion. It's always been in the back of my mind. And I figured that if I could keep it around and resist the temptation of drinking it, that meant I was winning. And my addiction didn't define me.”

Steve set his hand on the back of his head, drawing in a long breath. “You don't need to do that, you know. You are strong enough that you don't need to constantly prove it to yourself by having a challenge.”

Tony tried not to tsk. “You really believe that?”

Steve's brows lifted, before he nodded firmly. “I believe in you.”

Tony stared at him, before he couldn't help but smile. “You are a walking Hallmark card.” He released the glass of scotch and put his arms around Steve's middle, burying himself in his chest. “And I wouldn't have you any other way.”

Steve held him for a long moment, his lips against his hair. He didn't say anything for a long time as Tony's wild thoughts slowly calmed and the tension released from his body, first his arms, then his shoulders and back, and finally his breath so he could sigh contently into Steve's shoulder. Only then did he pull away enough to look at his face. His eyes said more than his words ever needed to. They were together, and they would get through this. They would be there for Peter as much as he needed them to.

When Steve regarded the alcohol and asked if it was alright if he poured it out, Tony nodded, taking a step back and leaning against the counter. He listened to the splash and the glugging, and then the sound of the tap as Steve washed it all down the drain, forgotten. He couldn't help it as he wrapped his arms around himself, scrunching his shoulders up and feeling both relieved and a bit like he didn't have an anchor. But then Steve put his arms around him again, telling him how proud he was of him, and Tony closed his eyes as he leaned into him.

###### 

“Peter,” Hank said, lifting his eyes from his microscope and turning in his chair. “I wasn't expecting you to keep our appointment, not after...yesterday.”

Peter just gave a tired shrug, his hands in fists in his jacket pockets. “I still have that paper due,” he lied, and it was getting easier to do that. He glanced around the lab, and it reminded him of the insect portion of the zoo. There were bugs of all kinds in glass cages protruding out of the wall. He spotted a few arachnids too. 

He shrugged his bag off of his shoulder, pulling out the pamphlet about the spiders and handing it over as Hank stood. “I'm doing a paper about genetics and genetic alteration,” he said, his voice flat. “My birth father bred some radioactive spiders, and I've chosen that as my subject.” He watched Hank flip through the pamphlet, feeling more worn out than he had in a long time. “But I've found precious little information.” He moved over to a spare chair and sat down, leaning back and pulling out his notebook. “Bruce told me to ask you.”

“Mm, he was right. While mutation via radiation is closer to his area of expertise, I've worked with spiders and know far more about them than he does.” Hank sat down at his own chair, wheeling it closer to Peter and laying out the pamphlet on the table.

“I was hoping you might be able to tell me more about what the spiders went through during the breeding process. I was trying to look it all up, and I found word of a paper that was published, but I couldn't find said paper.” He poised his pen over the notebook.

“Oh, yes, yes, I remember that paper,” Hank said excitedly, smiling, before he schooled his features after looking at Peter's face. “Dr Richard Parker was a brilliant scientific mind. He worked with dozens of different web making spider breeds before he found one that could withstand the radiation. And as the next generation of spiders came out with amazingly strong web, he changed the face of cross-species genetics. You know he used genetic material from the Bombyx mori?” Peter stared at him, and he cleared his throat. “The mulberry silkworm. Anyway.”

Hank kept talking, recalling all he could from the paper Richard Parker had published. He seemed lost in the retelling, smiling and excitingly gesturing with his hands. Peter wrote as he spoke, taking notes as completely as he could. Finally when Hank took a breath, he posed the same question that he had for Bruce. “What do you think would happen, hypothetically, if a radioactive spider's venom was introduced into the bloodstream of another living organism? Like, say, a lab rat or even a chimpanzee?” 

Hank hm'ed at the question, scratching the stubble along his jaw. “A number of things could happen. The original spider Dr Parker used was a sturdy and not particularly venomous spider. I imagine that the venom would be even less potent after being bred. It would be the radioactivity that one would have to worry about.” He paused, leaning back and looking over toward his own cages of insects and spiders. “I can't tell you for certain without running my own tests. And I'm sure OsCorp would send me a cease and desist order if I tried.”

Peter gave a hollow laugh, before he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Thanks anyway. You've given me a lot of information.” If he were actually writing a paper, he'd be totally set. As it was, he didn't know what he really needed, and that was what to expect from his blooming abilities.

“Sure, Peter, glad to help.” Hank reached over and clasped his hand on his shoulder, giving him a warm smile. “It's good that you're concentrating on academia in a time like this. It's productive to pour your energy into learning rather than depression or anger. Those have never gotten anyone anywhere.”

Peter's lips twitched. Yeah, right.

###### 

The next day, Peter went back to school. It went about as well as he had expected it would. He felt eyes on him and heard murmurs. He wasn't that nerd with a camera anymore. Now he was that nerd with a camera whose uncle got murdered. That feeling from the funeral reception was back, like he was moving in slow motion through a thick fog with figures like shadows moving around him. He couldn't connect. He didn't want to connect. As he was standing at his locker, pulling things out, he felt a body come up next to him, and he prayed it wasn't some well meaning student there to offer condolences.

“Peter,” he heard Gwen's voice say, and he relaxed just a little bit. “How're you doing?” He dropped his head, before he looked at her so she could see the tiredness in his expression. “Yeah, that's about how I figured.” She tried to smile at him, and he didn't return it. “You know I'm here if you want to talk. Or not talk. We can just hang out.”

He nodded, because he did know that. He just couldn't, not yet. “I know, Gwen. Thanks.” He shut his locker door.

During his free track, he thought about just leaving the school grounds, but he only made it to the football and track area, where he sat on a concrete slab under the bleachers and just zoned out. He could wait through until school was over. He'd be alone and have peace. At least, that was his plan until all of the sudden Flash Thompson ducked under the bleachers, and he paused, looking just as surprised to see Peter as Peter was to see him. 

“Hey, Parker,” he said, and his tone was careful, soft. 

Peter was immediately suspicious. “What do you want?”

Flash took a deep breath through his nose, before he shrugged. “You're in my spot.” And he came over, plopping down next to him.

Peter stared. “Are you serious?”

Flash swallowed and let out a cough. “I'm, uh, I'm sorry, man, about your uncle.”

Gritting his teeth, Peter looked away as his fingers curled into fists. No, he couldn't handle this. He couldn't take Flash's condescending pity right now. “Screw you, Flash,” he said, getting up.

He didn't get very far, because a solid hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down. “No, dude, I'm serious, I—“

Peter twisted around, grabbing the front of Flash's letterman jacket and pinning him to the concrete slab. “What? What is it that you want to tell me, Flash? How you feel sorry for poor little orphan Parker with his broken family and faggot adoptive parents?” Hot wetness was pooling in his eyes. “Everybody in his life keeps dying! Someday he's gonna be all alone with no one to love him.”

Flash stared up at him with his eyes wide, before he swallowed and slowly lifting his hands to set them on top of Peter's. “I wasn't going to say any of that.”

“You don't have to.“ Peter bared his teeth as he was trying to control the trembling of his lip. He was so damn angry. He wanted to beat the hell out of Flash for all of the hell he'd given him throughout the years. But he couldn't move his hands. They were shaking with the effort of holding on. He didn't want to feel sad. He didn't want to cry in front of Flash, especially with his face looking so open and gentle. This wasn't the Flash he knew. He couldn't look anymore. When he closed his eyes, heavy tears plopped audibly on Flash's chest.

Flash's hands released Peter's and lifted up to grasp his shoulders. “It's okay, man,” he said, and his fingers dug in a little as he tugged him downward. Peter relented, landing on Flash's chest and burying his face in his jacket. Flash wrapped his arms around him, giving him a firm hug. “For what it's worth, your dads are totally badass.” Peter gave a shaking, wet laugh at that. “You're lucky to have them.”

Eventually, and probably longer than either of them would admit, Peter drew away from Flash and sat up, scrubbing at his face as Flash sat up too. They were quiet for several moments, before Flash dug into his pocket and pulled a joint to put between his lips, lighting it as Peter looked on in surprise. Flash looked at him, mistaking his expression, and offered it to Peter as he blew smoke through his lips.

“Uh, no thanks,” Peter said, scooting back as so not to get the smell on his clothes.

“Pussy,” Flash said, though it was without the normal heat. He rolled his shoulders. “So, um, this never happened, 'kay? I've got a reputation to protect.”

Peter blinked slowly, before he rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, yeah, I know what you mean. What would all my future Mensa member friends think if they found out I was hanging out with a drugged out meathead?” 

Flash narrowed his eyes at him before he blew smoke out of his nose like a bull then pushed Peter right off the concrete slab. “Shut up, dweeb.”

###### 

Heroing was not what he was expecting it would be. He immediately realized that he had no idea how to fight, which was a little embarrassing. In looking for the man that killed Uncle Ben, he came across a lot of guys that matched the description that also didn't enjoy being manhandled. Having super reflexes only helped so much when someone called in a bunch of dudes with baseball bats. Getting sucker punched with brass knuckles was an extra special experience.

But getting beaten revealed something new about himself. Bruised ribs and contusions on his face healed overnight. Amazing regeneration was kind of the best super power ever. Still, he needed to figure out a way to keep people away from him in a fight. He could jump fences and flip away like a master of Parkour, but he needed more. He needed something exclusive to him. It would have been nice if he could carry chains around to hook on things and swing from, but that wasn't reasonable. 

It would be better if he had webs like a real spider, though not out of his butt.

More importantly, he needed to hide his face. The darkness in alleyways only did so much.

Both of these reasons were why he found himself at the Avengers tower while he parents were away taking care of S.H.I.E.L.D. business. He was in Tony's lab, looking through shelves on one wall. He knew it had to be here. He'd seen it before.

“Is there something I can help you find, young master Peter?”

To his credit, Peter didn't jump out of his skin. Though his heart did do an interesting flipping motion. “Um, no, JARVIS, I'm okay, thanks.” He went back to his rifling. 

“I'm sure if I contacted Sir, he would know exactly where whatever you're looking for is.”

Peter bit his lip as he pulled out a drawer. “No, that's not necessary.”

“Young master—“

“In fact,” Peter said, swallowing. “Don't tell my dad I was here at all. Safe guard that information under access code Parker 815.” He had never used his special code before. Tony had told him that if he felt he needed to have a secret, that was fine with him, because he trusted him. Peter had never needed it before now.

“Very well,” JARVIS said, and he didn't offer anymore suggestions. 

Peter found what he was looking for. In the beginning of the Avengers days, Tony had been very concerned with the armor everyone wore. Thor may had not been a problem, and Hulk was indestructible, but Steve, Clint and Natasha needed to wear something that was flexible and offered a certain amount of protection. Steve ended up with Kevlar on steroids, while Clint and Natasha had a kind of faux leather was easy to move around in, protected against impact and breathed. Peter found an extra spoil of that fabric and claimed it as his own. He was lucky Aunt May had thought a skill that everybody needed to know what sewing.

As for the other stuff he needed, he went around the lab with a box and took some extra pieces of alloy from here and there, as well as gears and such. For these items, he had some special in mind.

Breaking and entering twice in one day probably wasn't the normal path to superheroing, but he just kept telling himself it was a means to an end. And technically he wasn't breaking into OsCorp since he was walking into the front door. The only thing that was different was he was wearing a baseball cap to shield his face from cameras. He told the receptionist that Gwen was expecting him and acquired a visitor’s pass. And he would go see Gwen, maybe, after he took a detour. He went up to the floor with the radioactive spiders, and when he passed a harried looking doctor with too many files in his hands and a badge hanging off his pocket, he bumped into him.

“Oh, God, I'm so sorry!” Peter said as files scattered across the floor, before he went to his knees and started gathering up the papers with him. “I totally wasn't watching where I was going. This is all my fault. I hope you can put all of these back in order again.”

“It's okay,” the doctor said with a sigh, pushing his glasses up and pulling folders into his arms. “It's just the kind of day I'm having.” He went up on his knees, smiling appreciatively as Peter put more papers on the stack. 

“Well, I hope your day gets better,” Peter told him as they got up.

The doctor nodded and turned to walk away. “What a nice young man,” he said as he rounded the corner.

Peter watched him go then pulled the man's ID badge out of his pocket. He turned and accessed the spider room, going over to the shelf that held boxes and boxes of tiny little containers of extra strong spider webbing. Since a single pellet held several hundred meters of the stuff, he didn't actually need much. He quickly put one box in his bag, before he decided just to be safe he might as well take two. They wouldn't miss two boxes, would they? It was just an accounting error.

After leaving the room, he decided to book it. He could visit Gwen another day when he wasn't all of the sudden weighed down with this guilt and anxiety that he was going to get caught. Sure, he could have ordered it online. But his dad would have looked at his bank statement and wondered what he'd spent a half a year's allowance on all in one go. He could order the webbing when he was more established as a hero. Then he would have necessary expenses that no one would question.

On his way out of the building, he bumped into someone else while he was busy looking behind him. “Sorry—“ he started, until he realized who it was and nearly peed. “Mr Osborn.”

The man was looking down his nose at him like he suspected him of grand larceny, not just a little petty theft. When his hands landed on Peter's shoulders and squeezed, Peter thought for sure he was caught and definitely about to be arrest. “Peter,” Mr Osborn said, and Peter took a deep breath. “I am so sorry to hear about your uncle. I offer you my deepest, sincerest condolences.”

Oh. It was tragic that Peter was relieved that was all. He looked down, trying not to show it. “Oh. Thank you, sir.”

Mr Osborn patted a shoulder. “I am sorry I wasn't able to attend the service. I only just came back into the state. Did your aunt receive the flowers I sent?”

Peter nodded, swallowing. “Yes, she did. Thank you.”

Mr Osborn cleared his throat and dropped his hands. “Well, let me take you and Harry out for dinner sometime. Talk to him. He knows my schedule. Feel better, Peter,” he said as he walked by, clapping Peter on the back as he went. 

Peter looked after him and let out a breath, before he promptly escaped through the front door. 

Now that he had the tools to become the next big superhero, it was time to put them to use. Dyeing and sewing a whole costume took him two days, limiting his sleep to very little, but when he was done he had to admit he looked awesome. That was, until he looked at his butt and found the costume left nothing to the imagination. He had noticed that on some of the Avengers and all of his comic book heroes, but seeing it on him was strange. Oh well, he decided, he was going to be moving too fast for anyone to be commenting on the tightness of the backside of his costume.

Making the webbing dispensers—wait—web slingers!—was a new challenge all on its own. He had spent years making things with his father—Pixie was proof of an early achievement—so he could do it. In fact, he wished he could share this with Tony, but he knew that he would be proud of him. Tony appreciated a slick, functional machine, and after webbing himself in the face twice and many tweaks, that's what he had. 

Alright, he was ready. Wait, what was he going to call himself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is going longer than I thought it was going to. Do you guys think I'm padding it too much with fluff and need to cut down to get to the actual plot stuff, or do you like the pacing as it's going now? This is very important to me, so if you have an opinion, any opinion, please tell me.
> 
> (Also still looking for a beta reader. :D?)
> 
> Next chapter: I'm a hero, I promise.


	14. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter balances being a teenager and a superhero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [crypticvengeance](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crypticvengeance/pseuds/crypticvengeance).

Days became weeks, and weeks became two months in which Peter stayed with Aunt May. He went to school, escorted Aunt May home from her job around 5pm everyday, and then he hopped out of his window after dinner to spend the night beating up thieves and petty crooks. Word about his vigilantism had spread through the city, and there were almost as many cell phone videos of him swinging from buildings on YouTube than there were cat videos. Okay, not quite. The thing is though, he was popular. Everyone was talking about the new masked hero and his physics defying moves.

The police weren't exactly happy with him, even though he webbed crooks to the front of the station with signed confessions stuck to their clothes. There hadn't been any kind of official statement yet, but on the occasion that he did come across a boy in blue, he received less 'thank you's and more 'get your ass on the ground now!'s. He'd gotten used to taking a cop's gun away after it was aimed at him, usually with a 'sorry!' before he stuck it to a wall and swung away.

He felt more at home kicking dudes in the face than he did sitting across from Aunt May at dinner, feeling the weight of her analyzing eyes. Sometimes he came to dinner with bruises, but he said it was from falling down during skating. And when she asked him why he had suddenly become so clumsy, he would just shrug and focus on the meatloaf. 

But during this dinner, Aunt May let her utensils clatter to her plate, and Peter looked up as she put her elbows on the table and set her lips against her fingers. Her clear blue eyes pierced him deep, and he fought to swallow his milk as his throat closed up anxiously. “What's up, Aunt May?” he asked finally.

“I think it's time for you to go home,” she told him, her brows bowing up.

Peter blinked at her, before he sat back. “You don't want me here anymore?” he asked. If he went home, it would be infinitely more difficult to sneak out and go heroing. He couldn't necessarily slip out of his window at the tower. That window didn't even open. And JARVIS would know if he went down the elevator.

“No, sweetie, of course I want you here,” she replied, before she moved to the chair adjacent to him instead of across. She took his hand in hers and held it tight, possessing an extraordinary grip for someone with small, fragile looking hands. “And I love you so much. But your parents miss you. They call everyday, sometimes twice a day. Not only that, Peter, but you're wasting your youth looking after an old biddy like me. I want you to go hang out with your friends and to go on dates with Gwen. It's not your responsibility to care for me.” Peter opened his mouth to protest, but she pinned him with a look. “I can get by just fine on my own.”

Peter pressed his lips together, before he slid his eyes away guiltily. What would she think if she knew that taking care of her wasn't the only reason he was staying with her? Yeah, it had been the initial reason, but it wasn't the main one anymore. She'd probably be disappointed, and he would deserve it.

He nodded. “Okay, but I'm still gonna come over all the time to make sure you're alright.”

She smiled at him, before she grabbed the back of his head and pulled him in so she could kiss his forehead. “My hero.”

Peter had to smile because, yeah, that was the plan.

After dinner, he packed up a few of his more essential things, gave Aunt May a kiss on the cheek and headed for the subway. It had been a while since he'd seen his parents. Sure, he'd talked to them on the phone a couple days a week, and Tony texted him like a fiend, but it was strange coming home after all that happened. It felt like years since he'd seen the tower.

Peter asked JARVIS not to announce his arrival, because he didn't want to set out of the elevator and immediately get enveloped in a family hug. He was hoping that shock would keep his innards from getting crushed. As he rode up and listened to the ding of the floors going by, he sighed, pulling the straps of his backpack more firmly around himself. Folded up under his books was his costume, and he needed to hide it promptly.

He stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hall, tossing his bag into his room before he went towards the living room where he could hear the sound of the TV. He stopped, looking at the backs of their heads. They were cuddling, Tony's head on Steve's shoulder and Steve's arm around the back of the couch. Seeing them made him swallow. He didn't know if he could go back to being their son like before.

“Hey, guys,” he said as a way of announcing he was there.

There turned to look at him, surprise written across their features as they both said his name. Tony was up first with Steve right behind him. He was wrong that shock would keep him from getting crushed, but they did let him breathe after a quick hug. 

“Why didn't you tell us you were coming home? We would have come to get you,” Tony said, brushing his hand through Peter's hair, before he paused. “You are coming home, right? This isn't just a visit, is it?”

Peter smiled at him as best he could. “No. I'm home.”

Tony swallowed, clasping his shoulder. “Good.” Then he tugged him into another hug like he couldn't help it. “We missed you, you know.”

“I know. I missed you guys too,” Peter told them as Tony let him go.

But he didn't escape another hug from Steve. “I'm glad you're home, buddy.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

After disengaging from his parents, he went to his room to unpack his bag and tuck his outfit away. The moment he got in the room, however, he was bowled over by a very excited Pixie, who wanted to licked his face with her slick alloy tongue over and over again. He laughed, trying to get his arms around her so he could get off the ground. Eventually he sat up and situated her in his lap to hug her. “Hi, girl, I missed you too. Sorry I didn't take you this time.” She panted soundlessly up at him, and he held her against his chest for several long moments, enjoying her unconditional love.

Pixie hopped up on the bed once he was done putting things away, maneuvering against his side to put her head in his lap as he pulled out his phone and flipped the face open. Aunt May's words were in the back of his mind. He and Gwen had been together for a while now, and they saw each other at school, but he had yet to take her out on a date. He was a bad boyfriend.

He tapped out a message to her, 'Hey, how's it going?' And it was a few minutes when his phone rang. He smiled as Gwen's picture lit up the face of his phone, before he put it to his ear. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” she replied, and her tone was sweet. “It's good to hear your voice.”

He swallowed, feeling a little guilty about the radio silence over the weekend. “Yours too. So I'm home again. Aunt May basically told me to get out. I think I was cramping her style.”

Gwen giggled, and it was lovely to hear. “Your aunt's sweet. So I bet your dads are ecstatic to have you back.”

“I narrowly escaped with my spine intact.”

“They bear hug because they love,” she told him with a laugh.

“Yeah, you try getting hugged by a super soldier and see if you make it out without your lungs getting punctured by broken ribs.” He shifted, lying down with his head cradled by the pillows and Pixie shifting to put her cold metal nose against his free ear. 

“That sounds both painful and awesome.” Peter heard her shift then a plop, before she groaned, and he tried not to obsess. Had she just flopped onto her bed with her hair all over everywhere? He could just imagine it. “How about you take my little brothers, and I'll take your dads?”

Peter missed a couple beats, but he eventually answered. “That doesn't sound fair.” He smiled as she hm'ed at him. “So, listen, I was thinking...”

“Don't hurt yourself over there.”

He huffed out a mock offended laugh. “You're so funny. You should do stand up,” he deadpanned, and she giggled in his ear. “Anyway, how would you like to go out on a date?” There was a moment's pause, and he immediately became anxious. “I mean, we've been going out for a while, but we've never actually _gone out_ like couples are supposed to, and I'd really like to take you to a nice restaurant and—“

“I'd love to.”

Peter's heart did a flippity-floppity dance. “Yeah?” he asked, hesitant.

“Yeah,” she replied, confident. 

His cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so wide. “Cool, awesome, this weekend?”

“Sure. What're we going to do?”

He came up short. Shoot, he had not thought this through. “Um. I don't know. Dinner and a movie?”

“Always a good plan,” she agreed. “Is there anything in theatres worth seeing?”

He didn't actually know the answer to that question, so he got up and went to his computer. “I can check and see.”

As he pulled up the page, she said, “We have two options: we can go see a really good movie for conversation, or we can go see a bad movie and make out in the back row.”

Peter let out a surprised laugh. “Why, Miss Stacy, you are a terrible influence.”

Gwen just chuckled low into the phone, and the sound raised goosebumps on his skin.

###### 

“It's going to take me a while to get over how handsome you look,” Tony said, straightening Peter's suit jacket, before stepping back to consider him with his fingers on his chin.

This was the third jacket he had tried on, and Peter was starting to get really exasperated. His dad kept telling him he looked so handsome or even dapper when he had put on a vest, and yet he kept changing his mind. “Dad, you're going to make me late.”

Tony just huffed, and Steve laughed from behind him. “I just want you to look perfect for your date, but not too perfect, of course.” He tapped his lips, before he pulled the jacket down Peter's arms and tossed it on the couch. “Okay, no jacket. But let's do up your collar here.” He buttoned it to the top, before he stood back. “Good, but something's missing.” Peter just stared at him as he cocked his hip and tilted his head, and then he turned to Steve. “Can you get me my blue tie with the thin gold stripes?”

“Sure,” Steve said, getting up off the arm of the chair and going toward their bedroom.

Once he was out of the room, Tony stepped close to Peter and took his hand, digging in his pocket back putting a foil packet in his palm. Peter's eyes widened when he saw it. “Dad—“

“Shh, listen,” Tony told him, curling Peter's fingers over the condom. “I just want you to be prepared for any possibility. Even if you don't use it, I'll feel better knowing you have it.”

Peter swallowed, before he quickly shoved it into his back pocket as Steve came out with the tie. He hadn't even thought about—okay, yes, he had, because he was a teenage boy. But he didn't even remotely know how to go about trying to do that for real. Even the idea of making out was a bit much for him. Sex was this amazing, unattainable thing that he only knew about from gossip around the school and the internet. He couldn't imagine someone like Gwen, so beautiful and smart, would want to do that with a gangly nerd like him.

He came out of his thoughts when Tony tightened the knot of his tie, and he realized he was talking. “There isn't any champagne in the limo, but there is sparkling cider if you two want to feel fancy,” he said, grinning as he did so. “You have your Amex, right?” Peter nodded. “Okay, go nuts at dinner. And if you want to go shopping and buy her something nice, don't hesitate to do so.”

“But watch her before you do,” Steve interjected. “If she's looking at something, get it for her when she turns away. It doesn't have to be extravagant, no matter what your Dad says—“

“He says that like he doesn't love getting expensive gifts himself,” Tony said with a fond roll of his eyes.

Steve brought his hand up and gently tugged the hair on the back of Tony's head. “A small token of affection is worth more than all the expensive gifts in the world.”

“Ugh, stop filling his head with traditionalist ideals. Next you'll be telling him to open all the doors for her, pull out her chair for her, put his jacket down on a puddle for her to walk over, ask her father for her hand in marriage, nnf—“ Tony's words stopped as Steve's hand came around to cover his mouth and tipped his head back.

“Doors and chair, yes, but he's not wearing a jacket and is far too young to get married,” Steve said with a long-suffering sigh, and Tony just made muffled noises against his hand. Steve went on. “Do you have everything you need?” Peter nodded. “Okay, well, make sure you're home by eleven.”

Tony pulled Steve's hand down with a sputter. “Eleven!” he cried, looking scandalized. “How will they bar hop during happy hour if he has to be home by eleven?” Tony looked at Peter. “Do you have your fake ID?”

Steve's hand was back on Tony's mouth. “Your father is now grounded. Have a nice time, Peter.”

###### 

Peter did not freak out on the way over to Gwen's place, but it was a near thing. When Happy pulled up in front of the apartment complex, he suddenly realized he didn't bring flowers. “Do we have time to go get a bouquet?” he asked him, pushing his head into the window that separated the driver and the seating area of the limo.

Happy looked at the console to check the time. “We only have three minutes.”

“Crap,” Peter said, pulling away and opening the door. He heard the sound of Happy getting out as well as he jogged up to the building. He had a moment of being very intimidated by the doorman, but he just slunk by him, trying not to make eye contact. Then he hurried to the elevator, punching the number of the floor.

On his way down the hall, he practiced what he was going to say when he saw Gwen. “You look pretty, Gwen. You look beautiful, Gwen. No, you look radiant, Gwen.” He stopped in front of the right door and pressed the chime. When the door opened, he was already partway through his opening. “You look—“ He stopped when he noticed it was not, in fact, Gwen standing there, but her father, already looking deeply unimpressed. “—radiant.” Peter swallowed as the man lifted a brow at him, before he blurted out, “Hello, Captain Stacy, nice evening, isn't it?” And he tried to smile even with his deer in headlights expression.

“Uh huh,” Gwen's father said, before he stepped back. “Come in, Peter.” He closed the door after Peter stepped inside, before his hand landed on Peter's shoulder. “I think it is very nice that you've come to take my little girl on a date. I am sure that you only have the most noble of intentions.”

Peter schooled his body so he wouldn't tense up and sink into his shoulders at those words. He was suddenly very aware of the square packet in his back pocket. And by the tone of the man's voice, he had a feeling he was actually saying 'if you do anything untoward, your body will never be found.' He very nearly whimpered. He swallowed and nodded, tilting his eyes up again. “Of course, Captain Stacy, sir. I promise to treat Gwen like the lady she is and have her home before eleven.” At the man's face, he corrected himself. “Ten.” But Captain Stacy just continued to stare. “Nine?”

“Daddy, what are you doing?” 

Peter turned to look as Gwen and an older woman that must have been her mother emerged from the hallway. Gwen was wearing a slightly shimmery deep green dress with ruffles on the top and tight material around her waist to her mid-thigh. Her hair was curled in ringlets around her face. Her eyes were painted dark and smoky, and her lips were a kissable deep pink. He forgot his language ability as he stared at her. He even forgot Captain Stacy's hand on him until the man squeezed the back of his neck.

“I was just having a nice little chat with him, sweetie,” the man assured her in a light tone.

Gwen's brow twitched up, before she stepped forward and put her arms around one of Peter's. “That's good, because a shovel speech is a bit out of place when you live in a concrete jungle.”

Captain Stacy turned away with a mumble that sounded suspiciously like 'says you.' But Peter wasn't allowed to dwell on it as Gwen's mother made a kind of squealing noise before covering her mouth. “You two look so beautiful together! Hang on, I'll get my camera!” And she rushed back down the hall.

Peter very pointedly did not look at Captain Stacy, though he knew the man was staring at the back of his head when he looked at Gwen. “You look really nice,” he told her, and she smiled at him before snuggling up against his side.

“You don't look half bad yourself,” she told him, touching his tie.

“Found it!” Mrs Stacy announced, emerging again with a digital camera. “Here, come stand next to this painting.” She herded them over in front of a huge painting of swirly blues and greens, before she took about two dozen pictures of them. She dictated which way they should stand and where to put their hands. And at the end of it, Peter's face hurt from smiling, but on the bright side at least he got to hold Gwen against him.

“Do you think your parents would want copies of these, Peter?” Mrs Stacy asked as she scrolled through the pictures on her camera.

“If you wouldn't mind, that would be great, ma'am,” Peter said, still standing there with his arm around Gwen's waist.

“Oh, it's no problem at all, sweetheart.” Mrs Stacy lowered the camera and smiled at them. “So, Peter, are you driving or taking a cab tonight?”

“Oh, um, my dad loaned me his chauffeur, Happy, for the night. There's a limo waiting out front.”

Both Gwen and Mrs Stacy took on the same comically wide-eyed expression, before Mrs Stacy covered her mouth to muffle a kind of squeal. “Did you hear that, George?” she said, smacking her husband on the arm in her enthusiasm. “A limo!”

“I heard, dear,” Captain Stacy grumbled, crossing his arms.

“Okay, well, go on, you two. Have a good time,” Mrs Stacy said as she shooed them out the door. “It was nice to meet you, Peter.”

“You too, ma'am,” Peter replied, smiling at her as she waved and closed the door after them. 

Gwen snorted, dropping her hand to lace her fingers with his. “So, those are my parents.”

“I like them,” Peter said as he led her down the hall. She gave him a look. “Okay, well, your dad scares the pants off me. But I get it. And your mom's really nice.” 

Gwen just huffed at him. When they got out in the front of the building, the limo was there, and Happy was standing at the door. She gasped low and soft, touching her fingers to her lips, before she pulled away from Peter and hurried over to the car. She smiled widely at Happy when he opened it for her, before she ducked in. When Peter got in, she was practically bouncing, looking around excitedly. “I've never ridden in a limo before.”

Peter felt like reclining and spreading out his limbs like a king, but he resisted, taking her hand in his. “Well, we can ride in one to the junior prom if you want.”

Gwen turned away from the window and lifted a perfect blonde brow at him. “That's months away.”

Peter looked down at her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “You think we'll still be together?” Please please please.

She tipped her head to the side, her eyes turning up like she was thinking. “Maybe,” she said, drawing the word out. Then she let Peter suffer for a minute before she leaned in and kissed his cheek. “We'll just have to see now, won't we?”

Dinner was really nice, even though Peter almost forgot to pull out Gwen's chair for her, and they tripped over each other when he hurried to beat her to it. But at least they got a good laugh out of it. They talked about school, about how Mr Penderecki, the AP Physics teacher, was a total space case, how the debate team was doing this year, how Peter was embarrassed that a spelling error of his got published in the school paper, and how they both agreed that their basketball team was great but their football team was a disgrace. 

Eventually, they moved onto things outside of academia. “So Doctor Conners is a lot of fun to work with. He really has a sweet sense of humor, but he's also not afraid to gently correct behavior if necessary,” Gwen was saying. The table had been cleared of their empty dishes, and they had ordered a piece of cake, Death By Chocolate, to share. “He always writes amazing letters of recommendation for all of his interns. It'll really help when I'm trying to get into college.” 

“I'm sure you could get in anywhere you want even without a recommendation,” Peter told her, lips twitching up at one corner.

“Maybe. There are a lot of colleges I want to apply to, but at the same time I'm really scared about going out of state, you know?” She said, and Peter could only nod. “Moving away from every familiar's going to be really tough.”

“I'm sure you'll do great, Gwen.” Peter swallowed. This was an obstacle that all high school couples faced. College sometimes meant separation, and long distance relationships weren't exactly fair to either party. He didn't want to think about it, so he changed the subject. “So, what do you think about that new vigilante?”

“Spider-Man?” Gwen asked, before she smiled at their server when he set an obscenely large piece of cake between them, a fork on either side of the plate.

Peter stared. “Is that what they're calling him?” He'd been obsessing over what to call himself for ages, and now he was presented with a name that no doubt a commenter on YouTube had come up with and it was perfect. Spider-Man. It was so simple!

“Oh yeah. You've seen the videos, right? He leaves webbing everywhere and he has a spider emblem on his chest.” She leaned in a little bit. “My dad said that they had some of the webbing, and they were going to try to analyze it, but men in suits came and took it away. He was complaining about it. He doesn't even know if they were FBI or CIA.”

Peter blinked at her. He had a feeling he knew where the men in suit were from, but he had no idea why SHEILD would care. Anxiety tightened his shoulders. Were they watching him. “That's crazy,” he said.

“You're telling me. My dad is so pissed that there's a new vigilante in town.”

His brows came together as he poked the cake with his fork. “Why's that? Isn't he delivering bad guys to the cops on a silver platter?”

“Yes and no. Dad said that he's messing up investigations by capturing people the cops are watching. He set back a planned sting on a chop shop ring by months. He even beat up an undercover officer.” Gwen put a bite of cake in her mouth as Peter almost dropped his fork. He had no idea he'd done that. “Dad says this new vigilante has some kind of grudge, because he's beating up all these guys that look alike.”

Peter dropped his eyes to the cake, suddenly not in the mood for chocolate anymore. “Oh, well, I think he's just trying to help.”

“Here's hoping he doesn't get himself killed in the process.”

Peter suddenly changed the subject back to school, and Gwen started talking about all of the research she was gathering for the next debate. As he listened and responded in all the right places, he kept rolling the things she had said in the back of his mind. He wanted to think he was helping, and while he had already known the cops didn't exactly like him, he had liked to think he was at least doing some good. Now he wasn't so sure.

The movie they watched later that night was pretty good, and even though they didn't make out during it, they did hold hands, which was just as good in its own way. The opportunity to buy Gwen something came when he spotted her eyeing a pair of sunglasses, so he bought them and hid them in his pocket. When he walked her to her door, he brought them out for her, and she gasped before she hugged him tight around the neck. He chuckled, turning his face to breathe in the scent of her hair. Then she turned her head too, and their lips connected.

Peter wasn't prepared for the shock of heat that rushed through his body at the kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, enjoying the feeling of her soft lips sliding against his. He thought about deepening the kiss, maybe getting a little tongue action, before the door to the apartment opened and there stood the very imposing figure that was Gwen's father. Peter thought Gwen would jerk away from him like they were caught doing something bad, but she just pulled back enough to look at him, her arms still around his neck.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said, smiling at him, before she showed him the sunglasses. “Look what Peter bought me.” Captain Stacy flicked his narrowed eyes to the gift, before he looked at Peter silently. So Gwen just shrugged then kissed Peter again. “Good night.” She pulled away, dancing into the apartment.

“Night,” Peter replied, watching her go, before he looked at Captain Stacy again and tried to smile innocently. The man just stepped back and closed the door. Peter breathed a sigh. That man was probably going to shoot him someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! *throws confetti* Thanks forever to the wonderful and patient [crypticvengeance](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crypticvengeance/pseuds/crypticvengeance) for accepting the position as beta reader and doing such a fabulous job at it. All the cookies and love for her.
> 
> Next Chapter: Oh holy crap, is that the Hulk?


	15. Street Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spider-Man throws himself into the fray of an Avengers battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [crypticvengeance](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crypticvengeance/pseuds/crypticvengeance).

“Thank you all for coming,” Agent Coulson said, as he stood in front of the Avengers in the conference room. Many pairs of eyes stared up at him, but somehow he managed to look at them all like he was speaking directly one-on-one. Tony and Steve were sitting at the end of the table. Down one side was Clint, Bobbi, Natasha, Bucky and Bruce. Down the opposite side was Jennifer, Carol, Wanda, Pietro and Logan. “We've gathered you all here to discuss the newest unsanctioned vigilante in town.” He pressed a button on a smaller controller in his hand, and a blue and red figure blew up across the screen behind him. “As they are calling him on the internet, this is Spider-Man.”

The Avengers at the table shifted, listening more intently, but they didn't say anything. Coulson went on. “Spider-Man has been spotted all over New York, busting car thieves and petty robberies and leaving the suspects at the nearest police station. He possesses superior agility, can stick to surfaces and shoots webbing from his hands.” He stepped forward, picking up a sheet of paper. “We have collected samples of this webbing and have determined it to be a product of OsCorp's creation.” He handed the paper to Bruce when he reached for it.

“Are you saying this masked hero is OsCorp made?” Tony asked, brow twitching up.

“Not necessarily,” Coulson replied, changing the picture behind him to an OsCorp ad for the super strong substance. “OsCorp markets the webbing as an economical alternative to steel cables. Many corporations have purchased the product. We are cross checking employee lists and going through backgrounds, but so far we haven't come up with much.”

“Resourceful,” Bruce murmured as he went over the paper.

“We agree,” Coulson said, changing the picture behind him into a more blurry one of Spider doing a very athletic tumble mid-air and shooting webbing between his legs. “And we think he is trying to do the city a service. Unfortunately, he is unwittingly interrupting police investigations. While we have subdued the NYPD for now, it won't be too long before a warrant is issued for his arrest.”

“What are you suggesting we do?” Steve asked, putting one arm on the table.

“Bring him in,” Coulson said without hesitation. And the Avengers looked at one another. “I'm not saying to hunt him down. He's been spotted roaming the same turf since he appeared, so if you run into him, talk to him.” He turned off the screen behind him and set his controller down. “He has potential, and there is no such thing as too many heroes.”

Coulson took a breath. “There is also a possibility that he may be a minor. His body type suggests he could be as old as twenty-one, but also as young as fourteen. If he is a minor, he may need some special attention.” He glanced at one side of the table pointedly.

“Think he's a mutant?” Logan asked gruffly, his arms folded.

“Possibly. If he is a mutant and minor, he belongs in Xavior's School for Gifted Youngsters,” Coulson said, lacing his fingers in front of himself. “And even if he isn't a minor but is a mutant, he will still need guidance from responsible mutants.”

Pietro and Wanda looked at each other, seeming to communicate wordlessly like twins often do. Wanda spoke after a moment, “If he needs a mentor, we are more than willing. And if he needs someone to talk to, we are also here. So is Logan.” She set her hand on said man's arm, and he looked at her incredulously.

“Thank you, Ms Maximoff,” Coulson said with a brief flash of a smile.

“What if he doesn't want to cooperate?” Bobbi asked. “He'll know that being brought to SHIELD will mean he'll be unmasked. So what if he wants to continue going solo?”

Coulson tapped his fingers on the table. “Then we'll have to let the NYPD do what they will.” He glanced down, because obviously he didn't want that anymore than anyone else did.

###### 

Dates were Peter's new favorite activity. He and Gwen went out almost every weekend. Sometimes they went to the movies and dinner. Sometimes they went to the mall to shop and eat questionable food at the food court. And sometime they went for laser tag and vender hotdogs. Neither of them had died from food poisoning yet, so they both counted the dates as successes. 

Peter also liked buying things for Gwen. He'd buy her a book here, an iTunes card there and something silly here. He bought here a furry panda hat with long extensions down the sides that became gloves. She loved it and looked adorable in it. She tended to slap his hand when he wanted to buy something even remotely expensive, so he had stopped trying immediately. The most expensive thing he had gotten for her was the sunglasses that she wore on top of her head everywhere. 

The gift giving went both ways too. She kept surprising him with awesome things. First she got him a Justice League trade that he didn't actually have. Then there was the book Ansel Adams works that he adored. He definitely enjoyed the Japanese pocket puzzles, though he accidentally left them on the coffee table and when he had came back to find them, he realized Tony had solved them. His dad had apologized and returned them to their original state for him.

When they weren't together on a date or at school, they were on the phone or texting. Peter even took his phone with him when he was on patrol. When Gwen asked what he was up to, he was as vague as possible. 'Just hanging out' usually meant he was dangling from a web cord or a building. And 'taking out the trash' meant he was about to drop down on someone. 

All and all, he liked how his life was going. He had been Spider-Man for five months now. Once he had discovered that sneaking out of the Tower wasn't actually that difficult after swearing JARVIS to secrecy, his plans had continued. The man that had killed Uncle Ben was in the wind. Peter had branched out, stopping convenience store robberies, muggers and car thieves. He had even saved a puppy that had nearly gotten run over, and the family he had returned it to were both confused and really appreciative. His heart had nearly burst one night when he was swinging and heard “Whoo, Spider-Man! You're awesome!” from a random pedestrian.

Too bad not everyone agreed. He came home from school, thinking about homework and texting Gwen to see if she wanted to get Italian that Saturday, when he heard voices in the living room.

“The casual approach is the best one,” Steve was saying, as Peter moved closer to the living room. “Just talking to Spider-Man on even ground will show him that we mean him no harm.” At that, Peter stopped at the corner, just out of sight. “We'll lay everything out and give him his options.”

“What, that he has to come with us or be arrested?” came Clint's voice, and it made Peter press against the wall, his eyes going wide. “If I were him, I'd tell us to get bent and get the hell outta dodge. Nat, you remember why we joined SHIELD. It wasn't because we had some heroic sense of duty. They were were just the least likely to turn on us.” Natasha made a soft noise of agreement. “It's blackmail, plain and simple.”

“I have to agree,” was Bruce's opinion. “SHIELD will unmask him, learn everything about him and use him.” His voice sound heavy laden, like he was speaking from experience.

“I don't like the way SHIELD runs things better than any of you,” Tony said. “But it's either them or letting the police track him down. SHIELD is better than being a fugitive.”

Everyone started talking at once, putting in their two cents, but Steve cut through the chatter with a sharp “Enough!” There was a brief pause, and Peter had to look. He glanced around the corner to find Steve rubbing his eyes and standing while everyone else was sitting. “We have our orders, and we will follow them. We will find Spider-Man and ask him to come back with us to SHIELD HQ. If he agrees, we will see he's looked after, especially if he's a kid like Coulson suspects. If he disagrees, then we will leave him alone.”

There was some murmuring, but it seemed like Steve's words brought them all to agreement. So he backed up down the hall some then practically stomped his way down to announce his presence. He feigned surprise when he saw all of them. “Oh, hey guys,” he said, putting on a smile. “Avengers meeting?”

“Sort of,” Tony said as he stood up. “It's not exciting. I think we're done though.”

“Good!” Clint said, standing up and stretching. “We've been here forever.” That explained his foul mood. He went around the couch and clapped his hand on Peter's shoulder. “So, Petey, how are things? Words through the grapevine is your relationship with Gwen is pretty serious.”

Peter wanted to beg him to never call him Petey again. “I guess you could say that. We go out almost every weekend.”

“That's good, kid. Now, remember, if a girl asks 'do I look fat in this?', it's a trap. There is no right answer. Distract her. And then buy her roses.” Clint always liked to give sagely advice.

“Is that what you tell Bobbi?” Natasha asked as she came up and peeled Clint's hand from Peter's shoulder, twisting his wrist in a way that looked painful. “I'm surprised doesn't kick you in the face. It was nice seeing you, Peter. We have to go.”

“Ow, ow, Nat, ow, I need that hand,” Clint said as he was led away.

Peter watched them go, before he smiled at Bruce as he walked by. Eventually he was left with just his parents, who looked a little haggard. “Tough day? What was the meeting about, or is it classified?”

Steve and Tony looked at each other, and Tony shrugged as his husband pulled his lips to the side. Finally Steve tilted his head and Tony dropped his eyes, not looking up as Steve went toward the kitchen. Peter had no idea what just happened until his dad started talking, “We were talking about Spider-Man. I guess you've heard of him?”

Peter nodded, shrugging his bag off his shoulders to drop it next to the breakfast bar. “Yeah, he's kind of internet famous.” 

Tony snorted, smirking. “Yeah, well, we're going to try to talk to him.”

“Why?” Peter asked.

“SHIELD wants him. They said he has potential, but that's probably not the only reason. They're not exactly forthcoming with their purpose.” Tony moved toward the kitchen, where Steve was starting to put dinner together. “What I do know is that with SHIELD backing him, he's less likely to end up in prison.” He sighed. “Or dead.”

Peter looked down, his brows coming together. SHIELD wanted him? That—he didn't know how to feel about that. On one hand, it was the ultimate set up. If he was part of SHIELD, he could someday join the Avengers and be a hero alongside his parents like he had originally wanted. But, of course, on the other hand, SHIELD was not going to let him do what he wanted. They would want to know his movements. And they would not approve of him hunting down the man that killed his uncle. His dads definitely wouldn't approve of that either.

So that was that then. He would keep away from the other superheroes and continue his hunt. Once he had delivered the asshole to justice, one way or another, he would go to SHIELD. That was easy enough. Mostly.

“How does chicken parmesan sound tonight?” Steve asked, turning toward them.

“Sounds great,” Tony said, before he turned to look at Peter. “What do you think, kiddo?”

Peter swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. “Works for me.”

###### 

Peter's plan to stay away from other superheroes lasted all of a week, for that was when giant robots attacked New York. There were two of them, and they honestly looked like Gundam mechs, so he was sure that the people behind them watched too much anime. (They were kind of cool though.) Peter didn't participate in the fight to take them down. He watched from above as two squads of Avengers disabled the robots. He was only going to get involved if something drastic happened, like one of his dads got hurt. He didn't think he could sit around and watch that.

One robot went down, and Peter turned his attention to the other one. It looked like all was going well there too, but then Clint zigged when he should of zagged and got caught by a thick metal whip, before he was tossed like a rag doll up into the air. Peter couldn't wait and see if he landed safely. He swung down from his building, feeling the air rush by his ears and he aimed himself right out the flailing figure. Catching him wasn't exactly graceful, and they made matching 'oof!' noises, but at least Clint wasn't on a collision course for the asphalt anymore. 

He changed their directions as Clint twisted around and put his arms around him, shouting his thanks over the wind. Peter landed near Natasha, setting Clint down and taking a few steps back. They looked at each other, trading silent words, before Clint moved toward him. “Hey, guy, I—“

The tingling at the base of his skull barely had time to go off before a giant green hand encircled his waist from behind and lifted him up. He let out a pained gasp, pushing against the fingers and kicking his legs. “Hey!” he cried, before he was turned and put face to face with the Hulk. He froze. He had never seen him this close before, and to be honest, he was glad he had peed before he left the tower.

The Hulk regarded him closely, as if he were piecing together a puzzle. “Spider-Man come with us,” he said, in probably the mildest volume he could muster, and it still sounded like yelling.

“Um, actually, could we take a rain check on that, big guy?” Peter said with a hesitant laugh, pushing at the hand again.

“Spider-Man come with us!” Hulk barked into his face, and his teeth looked huge. He shook Peter, snapping his head back to front.

And, out of sheer panic, Peter did the stupidest thing he had ever done; he webbed the Hulk in the face. The Hulk roared, staggering backward and clawing at his face with one hand as the other dropped so Peter whacked his head on the road. Over the ringing in his ears, he heard Clint and Natasha shouting for Hulk to drop him, that he wasn't a bad guy, and then all he heard was rushing wind. When he could focus again, he saw with blurry eyes they were up in the sky, moving at ridiculous speeds. Then they smashed to the ground again, and Peter was tossed several feet away where he skidded to a halt.

Peter was still shaking the spots out of his vision when he stood up to look around. They were on a dock, surround by storage containers, and he could see the rides of Coney Island less than a mile away. So the Hulk had hopped Brooklyn, dumped him on the cement and was now standing over him with an irritated expression. Or maybe that was just his face. “Um,” Peter tried, spreading his hands. 

The Hulk pointed up over the bay and into the sky. Peter stared for several long moments, before he looked at the Hulk again. “I don't get it.” The Hulk _growled_ at him, before he pointed again. And suddenly it snapped in Peter's brain. “The helicarrier?” The Hulk nodded, crossing his huge arms. “You want me to go to the helicarrier?” Another nod. Peter sighed and slapped his hand over face. “Look, big guy, I know that you have orders to bring me in, but I can't. Not yet.” He dropped his hand. “I've got this thing I've gotta do before I can go to SHIELD. Can you just let me go and trust that I'm come in on my own time?”

The Hulk glared at him before snorting like a bull. “Don't know you. Don't trust you.” He started advancing on Peter, his footsteps shaking the ground.

Peter backed away as fast as he could, eventually smacking into the side of a storage unit. “Hey, wait, can't we talk about this!” he cried, but the Hulk just reached out to grab him. Peter flipped away, and the Hulk snarled, trying to snatch him again.

“Stay still, bug man!” the Hulk barked, before he caught Peter's leg as he jumped toward the top of a unit and slammed him back on the ground. “Bug man go to carrier, or Hulk smash bug man!”

“Wait, please!” Peter shouted, before he ripped off his mask. The Hulk's face immediately changed, softening with confusion and what he hoped was recognition. Then he slowly released his leg, considering him as he got up. “You do know me,” Peter said gently, wringing his mask in his hands. “I'm Peter.”

“Peter,” the Hulk repeated slowly.

“That's right. Bruce has known me since I was a baby. He trusts me, so you can too.” Peter smiled gently up at him. “You're one of my favorite heroes, you know. I had birthday cakes shaped like you for years.” Peter took a step closer, and the Hulk watched him. “Someone killed a person I love, and that person hasn't been caught yet. I'm trying to find him, so that my Aunt May can have peace—so that I can have peace.” He bit his lip, forcing himself to keep looking into the Hulk's bright green eyes instead of away. 

“After I find him, I'll go to SHIELD, I promise you that I will. But if you take me now, I might not get a chance to find the murderer.” He swallowed down the emotion that was welling up in his throat. “Please, let me do this. You can't take me up there yet. You know how much it hurts when people make you do things you don't want to do.” He worried at his lip for a second, before he reached over and set his hand on the Hulk's giant one. “Please, big guy?”

The Hulk stared at him for a long moment, before he let out a mighty sigh and rocked back until his butt hit the ground, the impact making everything around them hop off the ground before smacking back down, especially Peter. “Bug man better not break promise to Hulk,” he said, looking worn out.

“I don't want to get smashed,” Peter told him with a smile.

The Hulk laughed, and it was a loud, violent thing, before his form shifted, shrinking, and then there was an exhausted Bruce sitting there in pants that no longer fitted him. Peter immediately went to his side, helping him up. “Peter, what...” Bruce said, looking him over with his brows furrowed. Then his eyes lit up, before he frowned and tilted his head. “The radioactive spider,” he said.

“Yeah,” Peter told him, making sure he was steady before taking a step back. “You're not going to tell my dads, right?”

Bruce shook his head. “No, but you should.”

Peter shook his head. “I can't. They'll make me stop.”

“No, they'll take you to SHIELD. I understand that you want to find the man that killed your uncle, but you can't continue this on your own.” Bruce reached over and took his shoulder. “I can't make you do anything, because yes, I do know what it's like to have people make you do things against your will. You have to make your own decisions.” His fingers squeezed a little. “But at least come to my lab so I can run tests. I won't be able to sleep until I know that this mutation of yours is stable and won't deteriorate your body.”

Swallowing, Peter nodded, opening his mouth to say something but suddenly, he heard the all too familiar sound of Iron Man's repulsors and pulled away. “I gotta go,” he said, and Bruce nodded. He pulled on his mask and quickly looked for a place to hide. He ended up stuck to the underside of the dock, making himself small and trying not to breathe too loudly.

The sound of Iron Man landing was a thump similar to the Hulk's footsteps. “Bruce, are you okay?” he asked.

“I'm fine, Tony,” Bruce assured him.

There was silence for about five seconds before Tony asked, “Where's Spider-Man?”

Peter tensed up, closing his eyes. But Bruce didn't miss a beat. “I don't know. He must have gotten away from the Other Guy. When I came to, he was gone.”

Peter sighed, thunking his head softly against the wood of the dock. He listened as Tony and Bruce talked about the robots, then he heard the sound of a motorcycle and Steve's voice joined the conversation. He also asked where Spider-Man was, and Bruce story didn't change. Eventually they all left, and Peter crawled upright, feeling just as worn out as if he'd fought the giant robots too.

###### 

Peter didn't know what to expect when he went to Bruce's lab. He knew the man was going to try to convince him to open up and tell his dads the truth, and he was rehearsing his reasons why he couldn't do that in his head as he rode the elevator. He thought he had a pretty solid case when he rang the chime. And by the time Bruce answered he door, he was ready to launch into a presentation.

But Bruce just smiled at him, that little, soft smile, and gestured for him to come in. “I'm glad you came, Peter,” he said as he led him into the lab and offered him a chair. “I was half sure you wouldn't.”

Peter swallowed and tried to smile back. “I'd like to know just as much as you if I'm developing cancer.” He sat down and shrugged off his jacket to expose his arms, knowing by the empty vials on the counter that Bruce was going to need access to his veins.

“I hope we'll continue to be able to joke about that,” Bruce said as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves then sat down and rolled his chair over. “So I have a few questions for you.” He rubbed the inside of Peter's arm with an alcohol swab. “What changes in your body have you noticed? Anything negative?”

Peter shook his head, looking away when Bruce pulled out the needle and stuck his arm. “No, nothing negative. The first thing I noticed is that my eyesight is perfect now, maybe even better than perfect. My body's a lot more sensitive now. I can feel _everything._ And I can do things with my body I never could, like running ridiculously fast, jumping ten—twelve feet, and contorting myself in ways that should be painful but are so easy. I can stick to things too.”

Bruce was listening quietly as he continued filling the vials with his bright red blood. Peter just kept on talking. “One of the coolest things I found I have now is a kind of—well—I don't know if I should call it clairvoyance or some kind of instinctive ability, but sometimes I know things are going to happen right before they do.”

That made Bruce look up, his eyebrows coming together to knot in the middle. “Can you be more specific?” he asked.

Peter sighed and tried to put it into words. “Well, it's not like I know what things are going to happen. I just get this feeling, this static in the back of my head, and it alerts me to danger. It's like my reflexes are on steroids.” Bruce tilted his head, and Peter just shrugged. “I call it the 'spider-sense.'”

Bruce's brows lifted up, before he set the last vial of blood in the rack. “That's interesting. Anything else?”

Peter bit the corner of his lip, watching Bruce place a band-aid in the crook of his arm. “Oh, yeah, super healing abilities. Bruises are gone within a couple hours. Cuts heal up overnight. And I think I had a cracked rib once, but it was fine by lunch time the next day.”

Bruce sat back, a smile coming across his face. “That is excellent news.”

“Yeah?” Peter asked as Bruce rolled away to start setting up the tests.

“Yes, it is. That means that your mutation is self-sustaining. Even if there is a possibility that the irradiated venom could decay your cells, they regenerate faster than the damage is done. The same is the case for Steve's body.” Bruce looked happy, actually _happy_ , with his eyes bright and eager. “That makes me significantly less worried.”

“Me too,” Peter said as he watched him. “Can I do anything to help?”

Bruce looked up again, almost like he'd forgotten Peter was there, before his smile widened and he nodded. “Sure.”

Working in a lab with Bruce was actually a lot of fun. The man didn't micro-manage, and when he found that Peter knew what he was doing, he left him to it. They moved around each other with ease, losing themselves in their work. It was strange to see his own blood cells under a microscope, and even stranger when he noticed how different they were from standard cells.

“I wonder what keeps my body from making too many white blood cells and attacking itself,” Peter mused, prompting a forty-five minute discussion about all the possibilities. Peter and Bruce were having fun.

“I have to wait for a couple hours with the centrifuge,” Bruce said much, much later. “But so far the results are looking great.”

“So I'm not going to die painfully?” Peter asked.

“Don't jinx yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to the wonderful [crypticvengeance](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crypticvengeance/pseuds/crypticvengeance) for taking time out of her super busy schedule to beta read for me. <3
> 
> Next chapter: Unmasking.


	16. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to find out who Spider-Man really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [crypticvengeance](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crypticvengeance/pseuds/crypticvengeance).

“So, Doc, what's the prognosis?” Peter asked as he sat in the office chair backwards, his arms crossed over the support and his heels pushing against the floor to swing him back and forth.

Bruce was critically looking over a long white paper read out from a printer. He didn't say anything right away. Instead, he moved his eyes quickly over the words and numbers. A minute ticks by as Peter stops his swinging, suddenly anxious. Had they missed something in their initial testing? Was something really wrong with Peter that they hadn't accounted for?

But then Bruce looked at him, taking off his glasses and smiling. “All's well, Peter.”

The teen let out a grateful sigh, flopping over the back of his chair. “You had me worried there for a minute.”

Bruce let out a low chuckle, before he folded the papers neatly and set them on the counter. He stood there for a moment, his back to Peter, before he swallowed and looked over his shoulder. “About telling your parents...”

Letting out a loud groan, Peter covered his face. “I was so sure you weren't going to say anything,” he said, a bit muffled by his palms. 

“I wasn't, but I think it's important.”

Peter dropped his hands and sighed. “I know it is. And I am going to tell them. But I just can't. Not yet.” He turned his eyes down as he scuffed his shoe across the floor. 

Bruce took in a deep breath, grabbing his chair and rolling it over to sit in front of the trouble teen. “They might be able to help you.” Peter lifted his eyes to his face. “To find the man that killed your uncle.”

Shaking his head, Peter wet his lips. “No, they wouldn't, they would make me stop. They want to give me to SHIELD. I won't be able to do what I want after that. I won't be able to go patrolling anymore. I won't be able to stop crime anymore.”

“You don't know that, Peter. Steve and Tony care about you. They cared about Ben. They have skills and resources that would make the search easier, and--”

“It's my fault, so I have to do it alone!” he barked, cutting through the scientist's words like a knife. The silence after that was deafening. Bruce stared at him with his eyes wide, and Peter gripped the back of his chair, fingers cramping as his knuckles bled white. He drew in a shaky breath, his words coming out a broken fraction of what they were before, “It's my fault.”

Bruce rolled closer, reaching out and putting his hand on the back of Peter's head, the other laying over his arm. “Okay, Peter, you do what you need to. Just...” He swallowed, and Peter looked up at his eyes. “Just be careful, alright?”

Peter nodded, leaning his forehead against the top of the man's hand.

###### 

A few weeks went by, mostly without incident. He didn't see any of the Avengers again, so he counted himself lucky.

Peter was sitting on the small wall that surrounded the courtyard of the high school. He was waiting for Gwen, so that he could hang out with her while she waited for her ride. He looked out over the students that hadn't hopped on the buses. Most of them were chatting, a significant amount of them were texting, and a lot of them were doing both at once.

His eyes landed on Flash. There was a kind of truce between the two of them now. They didn't talk or anything, and they definitely weren't friends. But if they made eye contact, they would nod or do a chin up greeting. Right then Flash was wearing a Spider-Man t-shirt of all things, and he had to look away to hide his smile. He had a fanboy.

“Hey, giggles,” Gwen said as she plopped onto the wall next to him. “What's so funny?”

“Was I laughing?” Peter asked as he tried to school his face. “I was just thinking about something I watched on YouTube.”

“You're a dork,” Gwen told him with a sweet smile, before she patted his shoulder. “So, I called my mom and told her not to come and pick me up.”

Peter's brows went up. “What? Why?”

She shrugged, before she leaned into him. “I thought we could spend some time together since you canceled our date so suddenly Saturday.”

He pulled the best apologetic face he could manage. “I'm sorry about that. Again. Really. Sorry.” He felt bad about that. It had been an hour before he was going to pick her up, and suddenly news of a hostage situation at a bank came up on his police scanner. He'd managed take out the perps, but his date was off after that.

“I know. It's okay.” She kissed his cheek. “So, it's Wednesday. That means it's comics day, right?”

“You want to come to the comics shop with me?” he asked, his eyes going a little wide. 

“Only if you'll go to GameStop with me afterward,” she replied, grinning, before she hopped down off the wall and offered him her hand. 

Peter grabbed it, getting down, and she pulled him around the wall. The comic book shop he led her to was the same one he'd been going to for years. It was nestled between a Chinese eatery and a New Age crystal shop. When he walked in, he headed right toward the walls that held the new releases. Gwen came up after him, observing as he plucked comics from the displays.

“Peter,” she said after a bit, grabbing onto the tail of his jacket and leaning in. “They're staring at me.”

Peter looked at her, before he slowly looked over his shoulder. There were two guys bent over bins of comics in the center of the store. They kept looking at Gwen and whispering to each other. He went to put his arm around her, maybe to shield her subconsciously, but she stepped out of his grasp.

She turned, walking right over to the two guys. “Do you have a problem with me?” she asked, hands on her hips and stance strong. They flinched away from her.

One of them cleared his throat. “We're just wondering why you're here.”

Gwen's nostril's flared. “Because I want to. Maybe I like comics. Maybe I'm here because my boyfriend does. Either way I have just enough right to be here as you do. And either way it's none of your damn business.” With that she turned around, walking right back over to Peter.

He was a bit awestruck, wondering where all of this anger came from. “Gwen?” he asked, and she didn't meet his eyes. “You okay?” She just nodded.

He bought his comics, and they left the shop. Gwen was quiet, her hands in her pockets as they walked to the game store a few blocks down. He kept sneaking glances at her, wondering if she would tolerate a hug. But he didn't want to crowd her if she wanted her space. So he just put his eyes forward and continued to walk.

Finally, she stopped, and he halted a couple of steps after, turning to look at her. "I know guys like that," she said after a moment, not looking at him but into the window of a store. "Guys that think girls are like a different species. You heard what he said. They were wondering why I was there, like it isn't possible for a girl to like comics. Like I'm doing it for attention."

She sighed, scrubbing her hand over her face. "I've met dudes like that before, you know, especially when I play shooter games online. I get called a 'slut' and a 'whore' just for talking." She growled out a noise. "What's the most annoying though is when they accuse me of not really playing and say it's my boyfriend, like I'm just on the mic. I wish you could headshot someone in real life." She paused, before she sniffed. "Legally."

She looked at him, and he lifted his brows at her. She stepped closer, putting her arms around him and pressing her forehead into his shoulder. "I just want to find whatever disgusting mouth-breather thought up the concept of the fake geek girl and introduce the toe of my boot to his balls." She pressed closer to him.

Peter put his lips against her temple, hugging her tight. "No jury in the world would convict you." He knew the kind of guy that she was talking about. He'd seen plenty of them at a comic con he'd gone to with Harry. And of course he'd witnessed their misogyny online.

Gwen nuzzled into him, letting out a sigh. He gave her forehead a couple kisses until she laughed. He nuzzled her with his nose, and she called him a 'dork' under her breath. He just smiled. Then, he had a thought and drew back. "Hey, since I missed our date, how would you like to come to dinner with my parents?"

Gwen stared at him for a long moment. "Tonight?"

He shrugged. "Why not?"

She seemed to think about it for a moment, before her lips drew to one side and she shrugged back. "'Kay. Let me call my mom."

Peter smiled as she pulled away, and they both dug out their phones. "I'll call my dad." He scrolled through the contact list and hit the call button, putting it to his ear.

"Hello?" came Steve's voice on the other end after two rings.

"Hey Dad, is it cool if I bring Gwen home for dinner?" he asked, glancing at her as she walked on the edge of the curb, speaking in low tones.

"I don't see why not. Wings tonight. There's always plenty."

"Oh good, sticky finger food. It's not like I want my girlfriend to think I have manners or anything." Though the thought of Gwen getting sauce on her face and being generally adorable was appealing.

"We could dig out one of your old bibs."

Peter groaned out a noise of long suffering. "Please don't." He could hear his other dad laughing in the background, calling out something suspiciously like 'I'll find the photo albums!' He was so totally screwed.

###### 

"How many stories up is it?" Gwen asked as they came in front of the tower, craning her head back and tightening her grip on his hand as she swayed a little. She squinted, her nose scrunching up oh so cutely. 

Peter wanted to kiss her face all over. “Sixty.” Her head whipped to him, eyes widening, and he could only smile wider. “There's a really great view of the park and the bridge. C'mon.” He pulled her into the lobby and over to the private elevator meant only for the top suites. 

Gwen was silent for a few moments, before she blurted, “Do your parents like me?”

He looked at her in surprise. That was out of the blue. “What?”

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Do they like me? I know they mustn't like my dad. He makes it perfectly clear how he feels about superheroes in press conferences.” She shrugged, her lips pulling to one side and her eyes on the floor.

“They like you,” Peter told her, stepping closer and wrapping his arm around her waist. He kissed her ear. “I will warn you though. They are probably going to question you like crazy, because they can't help themselves. I'll try to get you out of there before they pull out the baby pictures.”

She chuckled softly against him. “I bet you were a cute baby.”

“Hopefully you'll never find out.”

“Maybe I'll have to ask.” Gwen smiled at him brilliantly.

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you going to invite me to dinner at your place someday?”

She blinked. “Sure, why?”

“Then maybe I'll have to ask too,” he said, before he stuck his tongue out at her then stepped out of the elevator as the doors opened with a cheerful 'ding!'

His parents were waiting for them in the kitchen. Steve hugged Gwen, and Tony kissed her cheek. When asked if wings were okay, she said that she loved eating with her fingers and there were no wings that were too hot for her. Something in Steve's eyes shifted, as if that was a challenge, and he went to the fridge to get the sauce Bruce had introduced him to, the one that sent Tony into coughing fits and made Peter's eyes water.  
Gwen's face did turn a bit red when her chicken was drizzled with ghost pepper sauce, but she still devoured the wings. Steve had a smile on as he watched her. It was one more thing that made her amazing.

“So how do you like working at OsCorp?” Tony asked with a calculated smile. All of the people that thought he was a smooth operator, including Tony himself, were delusional.

Gwen wiped her fingers on a paper towel. “I like it a lot. I work with Dr Connors in the cross-species genetics field. I've always like all biological work, and it's fun being even a small part of something so—so revolutionary.”

Tony smiled a little wider, flicking his eyes to Peter before then went back to her. “I read some of his papers. It's more Bruce's field than mine, and he swears that Dr Connor's theories will change the world if that can be substantiated.”

Gwen stared at him for a couple heartbeats. “Bruce? As in Banner? Dr Bruce Banner?”

“The same,” Tony replied.

She bit her lip, dropping her eyes and fidgeting with her napkin. “I've read every word he's published. He's always been a kind of idol of mine.”

Tony glanced at both Steve and Peter, before he said, “You'll have to come to a party of mine sometimes, one that I can actually convince him to come to.”

She looked up, her eyes going wide. “Really?”

“Sure,” he said, before he smile turned sly. “That is if you do something for me. You see, I've always wondered exactly what OsCorp has been working on, the stuff they keep out of the press anyway.”

“Tony,” Steve said in a slightly exasperated tone. They all knew he was joking, of course,

Gwen took it all in stride. “Well, there's only so much I can fit into my bag and download onto my phone without raising alarm, but I'll see what I can do.”

Tony's smile went wide. “What are your thoughts on marriage?”

Peter choked on his milk. “Dad!”

“Who said I meant marrying you?” Tony asked with a tilt of the head, and Gwen burst out into insane giggles.

Dinner continued with an expected amount of teasing. Peter wanted to sink into the floor when his dads recollected few months when he was four and had rejected the concept of clothes all together. But he'd felt better when, after they were all done eating, she reached under the corner of the table and held his hand. They all continued talking well after the food was demolished, and Peter couldn't quite get over how comfortable he felt around Gwen. He squeezed her hand, wishing he could spend all of his dinners this way.

About when Tony remembered the baby pictures was the time Peter announced that it was late and tried to herd Gwen away, though not before his dads hugged her and asked her to come back soon. She was laughing as she was ushered into the elevator and took a while to calm down again.

Peter was grinning at her when she composed herself. “So how'd you like dinner with my parents?”

“My lips are numb.” She snickered and touched them.

“Successful night then?” He stepped closer, wanting to run his fingers along her lips too.

“Very.” She closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck to connect their lips. Peter smiled against her mouth as she backed him against the wall of the elevators, his hands coming to rest on her hips. When he touched her tongue with his, she tasted like spice, and he made a soft noise. His fingers moved just under her shirt and jacket, just barely touching soft skin.

The doors of the elevator dinged open, and Peter regretfully opened his eyes to watch Gwen pull away from him. She was smiling a bit like a Cheshire cat, and she took his hand to pull him out of the elevator. He was already plotting out ways to entice her into a make out session in the car. Happy wouldn't mind.

###### 

Peter's life was full of mixed blessings. He was doing great in school, despite his late night escapades that sometimes interfered with homework and studying. Bruce was keeping his secret, though he wouldn't answer questions on the Avengers' movements to find Spider-Man. Gwen was the greatest thing since sliced bread, though both times she'd tried to invite him over for dinner with her family there was a crime he needed to deal with.

All those things were bittersweet. But the only thing that soured his mood faster than anything ever was the fact that he still hadn't found the man that killed Uncle Ben. Interrogating those likely to know anything ended in dead leads and total frustration. The man was completely in the wind, possibly underground after hearing a vigilante was after him or just out of the city, maybe the state. Still, he kept looking, but he wasn't finding that his nightly patrols were less about him finding someone and more about his kicking purse snatches in the back of the head and catching wayward balloons for kids. 

This night was boringly quiet. Peter was perched on the corner of a building, watching the street and honestly considering playing Temple Run on his phone until something exciting happened. No one had even run a light since he'd come out tonight. He rocked back on his butt and let his legs dangling off the building, rubbing his thighs and calves since they were sore from crouching for so long.

The tingling happened before he heard it, and his head snapped to the side. Iron Man's repulsors. Iron Man was coming right at him. His _dad_ was coming right at him. “Shit,” he hissed as he leapt off the building and swung above the street. He could hear his dad right on his tail, veering off to his left, so he flung himself right and slotted between two buildings very close together before bursting out above the street again. Suddenly Iron Man was right in front of him, and gasped before shooting webbing off to his left and wrenching himself in that direction. His shoulder was going to inform him how much it disliked that decision in the morning.

He kept going, swinging and flipping and eventually ending up in the industrial district. This was good, there were plenty of places to hole up and hide here. He felt his dad rather than see him as he shot across his right flank to try and loop in front of him, so he dropped down, swinging inches from the ground before propelling himself into an abandoned parking garage. He ran full force into the darkness, looking for a place to hide. He could crawl up into the ceiling and make himself small and perfectly still. His dad would have no choice but to move on.

That plan was shot to hell when Captain America stepped out from behind a pillar in front of him. He skidded to a halt, his breathing hitching and his muscles tensing up painfully. His father was an imposing figure in his uniform, shield strapped to his back. He had a passive expression on his face, his arms at his sides and his hands loose. Peter heard the metal to stone steps of Iron Man behind him, and his stomach dropped. His dads had planed this. He'd been shepherded right into a trap.

He didn't even think about running. There wasn't a point. If Captain America didn't run him down, Iron Man would chase him through the streets again. He looked between them, backing up so they were both in his line of vision. They gave him a wide berth as they approached each other, watching him carefully. They were so scary yet so amazing at the same time. He didn't feel threatened, not exactly, because he knew they wouldn't hurt him, but he definitely felt like the little guy in this equation, practically compelled to obey. He fought it. He wasn't ready to do what they wanted.

“Uh, hey guys, what's up?” he said, putting on a voice for obvious reasons. He wasn't sure why he picked Christian Bale's Batman mixed with a smoker, but that's what came out. He was trying to suppress his trembling. These were his parents. He was conditioned to be honest with them. He was doing so well with keeping his secret, but he had yet to be faced with them like this.

“Son,” Captain America said, and Peter's heart seized before he realized that his dad called everyone 'son.' “I'm sorry about leading you into a trap, but we needed to talk to you away from the general public.” He took a step forward.

Peter took a step back in response. “I think you wanted me somewhere private where I can't run away.”

Captain America had the decency to look just a bit guilty. He wasn't sure how his other dad felt about the ploy since the Iron Man faceplate wasn't exactly a field of emotion. But the Captain moved on, clearing his throat. “You're not wrong, but we really do just want to talk to you.”

“What about?” Peter asked, feigning ignorance. “Last time one of you guys wanted to 'talk' to me, the Hulk wanted to throw me off a pier and into the sky.” He, as a mostly regular Joe, wasn't supposed to know about the helicarrier.

“The big guy's a bit direct like that,” Iron Man said, crossing his arms.

“The agency that the Avengers works with, SHIELD, has expressed an interest in your activities. They think you're doing well as a solo vigilante and would like to talk to you,” Captain America said, and Peter knew he was leaving out all of the stuff about him stepping on the toes of the police force and accidentally beating up that undercover officer.

Peter folded his arms together, tilting his head. “SHIELD, huh? What's that exactly?”

“Strategic Homeland Intervention... En...” Iron Man tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. “Shit.”

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division,” Captain America supplied for him, the corner of his mouth teaching.

“That,” Iron Man said, pointing at his husband.

Peter somehow didn't laugh, but he wanted to. “That's a mouthful. So, what, they're like the CIA or NSA on steroids? What do they want me for? It's not like I'm anything special.”

“That's not true,” Captain America told him, stepping forward and spreading his arms out in an nonthreatening way, but Peter stepped back anyway. He didn't know how his resolve would hold up to the feel of his dad's big, supportive hand on his shoulder. The Captain stopped, respectfully keeping his distance. “You are a talented young man from what I've seen. You've helped people.” He smiled, and it was a genuinely warm thing. “The world needs heroes. With SHIELD at your back, you won't have to do it alone.”

Peter swallowed, before he shook his head. “No, I can't,” he said, his fake voice faltering for a moment before he coughed and added, “They'll—I need to protect my identity. No one can know what I'm doing. They won't understand.” 

Captain America gazed at him for an extended moment, and Peter felt his skin itch. “Who won't understand?”

Shit. Peter floundered for a second. This was starting to come too close to home. “People!” he decided, though he didn't mean to shout. He brought his hands up, covering his eye slots on his mask. “I just—I just can't, okay? I'm doing fine on my own. Isn't that enough?”

Iron Man stepped forward before his husband could say anything else. “Look, I get it, okay? I didn't want anything to do with SHIELD when they first approached me. But they do a lot a good, and, loathe I am to admit it, the Avengers are one of the best things to happen to me.”

Peter was shaking his head. “Yeah, but you're Iron Man. You released your identity in a press conference. Everybody loves you. No one will get what I'm trying to accomplish. They'll just try to stop me.”

“Stop you from doing what? What are you trying to accomplish?” Captain America asked, his tone kind.

It just made Peter angry. “Why does it matter? I don't want to go talk to SHIELD, so that's that, right? Can I just go?” It was getting more and more difficult for him to maintain the stupid voice he'd chosen.

“You really should at least consider it,” Iron Man told him. “The NYPD isn't exactly pleased with you busting crooks on their turf. SHIELD has been keeping them at bay, but if you deny their protection, the police will probably come after you.”

“You're blackmailing me now?” Peter asked, throwing his arms out wide. “Is that what the Avengers do?”

“No, I'm just saying your actions have consequences, and—“ Iron Man tried to say, his voice taking on a hard edge even through the synthesizer.

Captain America put his hand out to stop him. “That's not what we're trying to do, son,” he said, curling his fingers around his husband shoulder plate. “We just wanted to give you the option. The reality of it is that, unless you make yourself available to SHIELD, there is a high possibility that a warrant will be issued for your arrest. What you're doing is illegal.” He swallowed, sliding his hand off of Iron's man's shoulder. “You can't help anyone if you're in jail.”

Peter's hands shook, so he tightened them into fists. “I—I can't, I just can't.”

“Who are you so worried about?” Iron Man asked him, sounding exasperated. 

A muscle jumped in Peter's jaw as he gritted his teeth together. “What makes you think I'm going to tell you?” he asked—well, more like spat.

“Because I'm trying to help you, you little—“ Iron Man said, before he threw his hands up and turned away when Captain America put his hands on his chest.

“Yeah, right, you're just following orders from freaking SHIELD. You don't give a crap what I do,” Peter growled after him, totally forgetting his fake voice.

“I'm starting not to,” Iron Man replied without facing him. Peter wished that were completely true.

But Captain America did care. He was a kind man that cared about just about everyone, even if he didn't know them. His expression was just worry, and Peter didn't want to see it. His dad was too considerate. He was too attuned to other people, and he knew just what to say to break barriers. “Son, is it your parents?”

Peter's heart crowded into his throat, and the first sound that left his mouth was a terrible little sob. He bowed his head, closing his eyes against the wet heat prickling in his eyes. “Yeah, Dad, it is,” he said, his soft voice deafening in the silence.

The only thing that happened for the next for moments was the fabric of his mask becoming damp. And then, very tentatively, he heard his dad ask, “Peter?” He looked up slowly, finding Iron Man's faceplate up and the Captain looking at him with wide-eyed disbelief.

Peter lifted his hand and slowly dragged his mask off of his head and looking at his parents with burning eyes. He felt so tired all of the sudden. He didn't want to deal with this. Why couldn't they just have left him alone so he could do what he was finding he did best? 

“Peter,” Steve said, dropping right out of Captain America mode, and walked over to him, putting his hands on either side of Peter's face and searching his eyes. “What—What is this? What's happened to you?” he asked, and his worry made Peter choke out another noise. “Are you a mutant?”

Peter shook his head best he could between his father's red gloves. “No, I'm not. I—I just...” He swallowed, and it hurt.

“What happened?” Tony asked as he finally came over, apparently getting over his shock. 

Peter stared at him, before he pulled Steve's hands down off of his face. They rested on his shoulders, large and comforting, and his gripped the wrists. “You'll get mad,” he said.

Tony's brows furrowed, and he crossed his arms again, probably preparing himself for the worst. “I won't get mad, Peter,” he said, but then he added. “Unless you're taking drugs. Are you taking MGH?”

Wow, that really was the worst. MGH, or Mutant Growth Hormone, was a street drug with a really high dependency rate that gave the user surprise mutations. He'd heard a few speeches about it at his school. He shook his head. “No, I... I got bitten by a radioactive spider.”

“What?” Steve asked at the same time Tony said, “Where?”

He looked between them, swallowing. “OsCorp. At that public science exhibit.”

Peter saw the horror and outrage build on Tony's face before he exploded with, “Are you fucking kidding me!”

“Tony,” Steve said, pulling his hand from Peter's shoulder so he could touch Tony's arm. “Relax.”

“Relax? Relax?! Our kid's got damn spider powers, and you want me to relax? Hell no. I'm going to get access to those spiders, and Bruce or Hank will make up a cure,” Tony announced.

“I don't want a cure,” Peter told him, his brows knitting together. They looked at him. “I'm happy with the way I am.”

“Peter,” Steve said, squeezing his shoulder.

“No,” he said, stepping back and away from them. “I'm happy. My eyesight's amazing. My senses are heightened. I can feel things before they happen.” He flexed his fingers, gripping at the empty air and wishing they weren't looking at him like he was afflicted. “I'm probably not allergic to anything anymore. I heal—I heal so fast.”

Steve dragged in a sharp breath. “Peter, you're sixteen. You shouldn't need regenerative powers. You shouldn't be fighting crime and getting hurt.”

“But, Dad, I'm good at it. Yeah, I get hurt, but I heal and I learn! I know what I'm doing now, and—“ Peter tried to protest.

“No!” Tony barked, and Peter had never seen that kind of anger on his face directed at him. “You are a kid. And kids are not heroes. You are stopping right now.”

Peter's mouth worked, but no sound came out. He looked at Steve and found that he agreed, though with far less heat. No, they couldn't do this to him. “But—But, Dad! What about the X-Men? Half of them are kids!”

“They're not my kids,” Tony said.

Peter wanted to scream about the unfairness. How could his dad be so irrational and hypocritical? “I can't stop! I'm doing this for a reason!”

“What you're doing is admirable, Son,” Steve said, reaching out to him, but he jerked away. “But it's not your responsibility to be a hero. You're too young.”

“I'm not trying to be a hero! I'm trying to find the bastard that killed Uncle Ben!” He jammed his hands against his face, the fabric of his mask rubbing his cheek raw. 

Again, there was stunned silence for a moment or two, before Tony said, his voice sounding quieter and much less angry, “Peter, that's not your job. You need to leave that to the police.”

No. No no no! “It is my job!” he cried, knowing they didn't realize why but wishing they could just leave it be. “I have to.”

“No, Son, you don't,” Steve said, stepping forward and lifting his arms as if to put them around him.

But Peter wrenched himself away. “Neither of you understand because he wasn't your family!”

Those words might as well have been a physical blow by the pain that crossed their features. Tony swallowed thickly, all traces of anger gone as he stepped forward. “He was our family, because we're yours,” he said, and the sadness in his voice hurt to hear.

But even as his eyes stung with threatening tears, Peter was too frustrated to accept his words. They wanted him to stop before he found justice for his uncle and aunt, before he could soothe the guilt and anger in his heart. And he couldn't allow that. And with their words he knew they couldn't be part of it.

“No, you're not,” he said, his voice broken into piece on those words. “You're just the guys that adopted me. And you can't stop me.” He turned, pulling on his mask so he wouldn't have to look at their faces and see the hurt. His whole body was trembling, and he wanted to throw up.

“Peter, please,” Tony begged, and Steve choked out a, “Son, don't,” shortly after.

Peter didn't answer, instead sprinting away from them and out of the building. They didn't pursue him, though he was sure they knew where he was going. He sneaked in through the window of his bedroom at Aunt May's house, only taking off his mask before getting under the covers of his bed. He cried himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to the wonderful [crypticvengeance](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crypticvengeance/pseuds/crypticvengeance) for the beta read. I hope all your finals are going well! Sorry I gave you this chapter right in the middle of them. xD
> 
> So this chapter ran a little long, huh? I totally didn't expect to write all that I did, but my brain ran away with me.
> 
> If anyone is interested in where Steve and Tony went for their honeymoon, I wrote it out [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/805067)
> 
> Next chapter: Team meeting. Everybody tries to come to terms with some changes.


	17. I'm A Big Kid Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's going to make a difference whether you like it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [crypticvengeance](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crypticvengeance/pseuds/crypticvengeance).
> 
> I apologize in advance for this cliffhanger. Don't hate me! *hides*

Peter had a skill for photography, and he had gotten into it very young. Tony had built him a personalized digital camera when he was eight, and he had taken it with him everywhere. Immediately upon returning home from an outing, he would print out all the pictures. Then he, Tony and Steve would sit down on the couch and go through all of them. Peter would write on the back of them with a Sharpie in his near illegible handwriting. He wanted to keep all of the memories, he had said. 

After a few years, his picture taking went from spontaneous to more deliberate and even artistic. He had a true eye for detail, and he could capture beauty in simple moments. Anything that interested him, he took a picture of it, keeping the tradition in writing on the back of the photo with a sharpie, explaining his inspiration in a concise manner.

There were boxes of these photos, and Steve had kept every single one.

Currently, he was sitting in his studio; pictures spread out on the floor in a semi-circle around him. They were Peter's early ones, where he had taken endless shots of Tony and Steve when they weren't looking. Sometimes he'd turned the camera around, smooshing his cheek against one of his father's and smiling widely. The smile was so carefree, as every child's should be.

He wished his boy hadn't grown up, that he'd been able to avoid all the pain that the process came with. He wished things had stayed simple. He most of all that Ben had not been the victim of a horrible crime. No teenager should have his reality shattered like that. And Steve couldn't shelter him from it.

He picked up a photo of Peter, Tony and himself, sitting on a park bench with Pixie positioned in front of their legs. Peter had ran right up to a jogger and asked her if she would mind taking the picture. She had grinned happily and complied, charmed by the boy's enthusiasm. It was such a lovely picture. Why hadn't he framed it? He turned it over, and there, written in Peter's messy scrawl: _The best family in the world._

Steve's heart suddenly felt like there was a vice around it. If they were the best family in the world, then why had Peter hid such a secret from them? Did he not trust them anymore? What had changed? Peter used to talk to them about everything. How had he failed his boy so completely to create a rift between them?

“Steve?”

He looked up with a start, turning to look over his shoulder at Tony, who was standing in the doorway and looking every bit as wounded as Steve felt. “Yeah?” he asked, clearing his throat as his voice broke. He wasn't aware he was on the verge of tears until now.

“The others are here,” Tony said, coming in and stopping just behind Steve to look over the photos. “It's time to tell them.” He swallowed thickly, leaning down to pick up a picture of Peter and Pixie chasing each other through the park. He had his arms stretched out to his sides, like he was ready to take off on the wind, light as a feather.

“He's going to get hurt,” Steve said, turning his head to look at Tony's eyes squarely.

“I know,” his husband said, putting the picture down, standing up again and offering him his hand.

Steve took it and stood up. “We've gotten hurt a hundred times.” He rubbed his thumb over Tony's knuckles, wishing the touch would ground his manic, distressed thoughts. “How do we protect him?”

He watched his husband drag his bottom lip through his teeth, glancing down, before he drew in a heavy breath. “I don't know,” he said honestly, lifting his eyes again. “I don't think he even wants our protection. But we'll just have to figure something out.” He swallowed and put on a smile that looked completely forced. “We're Avengers, right? We can do anything if we put our mind to it.”

Steve didn't like how vague that sounded, but he couldn't think of anything else beyond forbidding Peter to use his abilities and locking him in his room. It wouldn't work. And it would drive him away even more. 

The living room was filled with what Steve called the core members of the Avengers, meaning the originals; minus T'challa, who was busy in Wakanda. Clint and Natasha were on stools in the corner facing the room, whispering to each other. Janet was in one armchair with Hank on the arm. Bruce and Thor were sitting on opposite ends of the couch. They had also invited Coulson, as their liaison to SHIELD, and he was leaning against a far wall, still and silent as a stone.

All eyes turned to them, chatter going silent. Steve hesitated, looking to Tony, who also appeared to have his words die in his throat. How do you breach this kind of subject?

“What's this about, guys?” Clint asked, shifting on his stool uneasily.

Steve took a breath, stepping forward first. “We've discovered the identity of Spider-Man.”

Coulson lifted his chin. “When?”

“Last week,” Tony provided. And what a long week it had been. They hadn't seen Peter since the incident, though they called May everyday to make sure he was still there.

“Why did you wait so long to call a meeting about it?” the agent asked, his voice neutral.

Steve looked at Tony again, before he let out a heavy sigh. “It's Peter.”

There was a long, strained moment where nothing happened, before Janet's hands flew to her mouth as she gasped. It caused a chain reaction of shock and disbelief in the rest of the group. No one looked like they knew what to say in response. Even Coulson looked unsettled.

The only person mostly unaffected was Bruce. He pulled his glasses off and cleaned them with the end of his shirt. “He told you?” he asked, calm with his eyes cast down.

Steve's eyes went a bit wide. Wait. Did that mean—

“You knew?” Tony snapped, stepping forward, composure quickly leaving him. 

Bruce looked up, replacing his glasses. “At the pier after the battle with a two giant robots, he talked the Other Guy down.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Tony demanded, his hands curling into fists at his sides. Steve wanted to put a hand on his shoulder to calm him, but he had a feeling it would get slapped away. 

Bruce didn't react to Tony's anger. “I knew he would tell you when he felt comfortable.”

“He didn't!” Tony roared back, stepping around the coffee table to loom over his friend. “We cornered him and found out the hard way!” To that, Bruce winced, and Tony backed up a step. “I can't believe you didn't tell me that my son is a goddamn vigilante.”

“He asked me to keep it a secret, Tony. It's hardly my place to—“

“No!” Tony interrupted in a snarl. “When my boy is out there risking his life and playing superhero, you fucking tell me!” He jerked himself away, his hands coming up to rub his eyes as he walked past Steve, avoiding his outstretched hand.

“Where's Peter now?” Janet asked, scooting onto the edge of her seat. “Is he alright?”

“As far as we know,” Steve replied with a frown. “He's staying with his Aunt May. He won't talk to us.” He watched Bruce stand up, following him with his eyes as he followed Tony into the kitchen where they started to speak in muted tones. He forced his eyes back to the group. “We suggested he stop, since he's so young, but he refused.” 

"Oh Steve," Janet said, wringing her hands in her lap. "He's just a baby."

Steve looked down, because yes, Peter was just a baby; his baby. 

"He came to talk to me about spiders," Hank said suddenly, and everyone looked at him. "About the ones that Richard Parker bred for OsCorp. He said he was writing a paper about it."

"That's what he told me too," Bruce said as he came back into the room with Tony, and they both sat on the couch. "I didn't think anything of it, even though his questions were very pointed. He asked me what would happen if someone was subjected to irradiated venom. I just thought he was covering all his bases for his paper."

Silence fell again, and it was an uneasy one. They were probably all thinking the same thing. Peter was a kid they had all had a hand in raising. How were they going to handle him becoming a superhero? On one hand, of course they were proud of him, but on the other, no one wanted someone they loved risking their lives, even for a admirable purpose.

"He saved me," Clint said quietly. "During the fight with the giant robots. I got tossed and was probably going to hit some surface and break something, but he caught me in the air." He looked at Natasha, and they seemed to communicate wordlessly like always. "I say give him a shot and see how he does SHIELD sanctioned." He looked at Coulson expectantly.

But Tony spoke up first. "He's a teenager. He should be worrying about his grades, science fairs and girls! Not playing vigilante."

"Is that his motive?" Coulson asked evenly. "Does he just want to help people?"

"No," Steve answered somberly. "He wants to find the man that killed his uncle."

"And do what?" Coulson inquired.

Steve didn't have an answer for that, so he just pressed his lips into a line. Honestly he was terrified for his boy. Morals were tested when it came to avenging deaths of loved ones, and murder could seem like justice. He hoped Peter wasn't capable of that, but right then he was on shaky ground about what his son could and could not do.

"This is a burden no young lad should carry alone," Thor added quietly, or as quietly as he could manage. He looked between Tony and Steve. "He needs his parents."

"He won't talk to us," Tony said from beside Thor, looking a touch defeated.

Thor didn't look convinced. He set his hand over Tony's and squeezed. "Go to him. Show him that you are here for him." He tilted his head and frowned sadly. "Or you will lose him."

###### 

“So have you been replaced by a robot or a zombie or something?”

Peter looked up from his food, which he had been picking at unenthusiastically to find Harry staring at him intently, half eaten chicken nuggets abandoned. “What do you mean?” he asked, too tired to put much feeling behind it.

His friend just rolled his eyes. “I mean, you've been skulking around school like a—like a phantom version of yourself for ages. Like a week. You've been dodging me after class. I only ever see you at lunch. You haven't been acting like a total nerd and answering every single question the teachers have been asking. Even Gwen asked me if I knew what was up with you.”

Lowering his eyes, Peter pushed his mac and cheese around on the paper plate.

“It's almost like what happened after your uncle, you know? You look like you're grieving. Is something serious up, man? Are you having problems at home?”

He had to give a humorless laugh at that. “You could say that,” he said, stabbing some macaroni with his plastic fork.

“With who? Ameridad or Irondad?”

Peter looked up, his eyebrows climbing toward his hairline as if to say, 'Really?' Harry just tilted his head at him, not letting up on his piercing look. “What, do you want me to talk about my feelings?”

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “Yeah, I'll call my dad and see if you can come over for a sleepover. We'll get some Häagen-Dazs and watch The Notebook. Don't be a dick, I'm expressing concern and you're deflecting. What's up with you?”

Peter sighed loudly and leaned back, crossing his arms. Maybe he did want to talk about it, but really, what could he say? 'I'm Spider-Man and my dads don't want me out doing what they do because I'm too young.' That would go over well. Or maybe he should say, 'I'm trying to find the bastard that killed my uncle, and no one seems to understand where I'm coming from.' That would crash and burn too.

He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “My dads and I don't see eye to eye on something, and it's pissing me off.” 

“On what?” Harry pressed.

“You know,” he said, waving a hand vaguely. “Stuff, school, career, Gwen...” He floundered a second. “Skateboarding. I don't know, they're just being controlling.”

His friend's lips pulled to the side, before he looked down and poked a chicken nugget as if he was testing the buoyancy of the pressed chicken paste. “I wish my dad cared a bit more about my stuff.”

Peter's shoulders suddenly felt a little heavier with guilt. It had probably been a few months since he and Harry had had any kind of personal conversation, even before Uncle Ben's death. He looked back at his food, his prior shaky appetite now completely absent. He knew not to complain about his parents when Harry had been raised by nannies and Xbox. “I know,” he said, before he chewed his lip. “Sorry I've been a crap friend lately. I've just got a lot of stuff on my mind.”

Harry shook his head at him. “You don't have to keep it all to yourself, man.”

He wished that were true.

###### 

When school let out, Peter's head was all messed up. He'd caught Gwen's eye in class, mostly by accident, and she had given him a distressed questioning look, but he'd just dropped his eyes. He didn't know what to tell her, and until he did it was probably best that he just avoid talking at all. She didn't grab him in front of the school, so he supposed she was giving him space. He was walking with his head down and his eyes on the ground, and he didn't even realized he wasn't going to be able to go to his Aunt May's house until it was too late.

He stopped a couple feet away from the sleek black car where his parents were waiting for him on the sidewalk. Tony had his arms crossed, leaning against the side of the car, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. Steve was much more neutral, looking relaxed though he was frowning. There was no way he could get away from them without making some kind of scene, so he just sighed, his shoulders drooping. 

“Is this an abduction? Am I going to be under house arrest?” he asked, unable to help the irritation in his voice. This wasn't fair. If they had come to Aunt May's, he would have been able to at least lock himself in his room. Even though they could have broken down the door, they wouldn't have invaded his personal space like that.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Tony said, sounding annoyed to, and when Peter made a face at him he returned it. “We just want you to come home where you belong. You can't just run away from us if you don't like our decisions. We're your parents.”

“Maybe I ran away because your decision sucks. Did you think about that? You can't stop me from doing—doing what needs to be done, you know,” he snapped right back at him.

Tony pushed away from the car. “If I have to ground you for the first time in sixteen years—“

Steve put his hand on Tony arm, stopping him. “Quit it, both of you. Get in the car. We're going home. We can talk about it when we get there.” He gave Tony a look when he looked like he might protest, before he turned and got into the car. Then Steve looked at Peter, giving him the same look when he didn't move. “You too, young man.” 

Peter groaned and rolled his eyes upward, before he got into the car as well. And thus commenced the most awkwardly tense car ride in the history of their family. That was followed by an equally tense elevator ride once they got to the tower. All he wanted to do when they got to their floor was go and hide. He didn't want to hear the lecturing that he was in for, and he tried to make it to the safety of his room, but Steve grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him into the living room.

“I've got homework,” he tried pathetically, even if it was a complete lie.

“It can wait,” was his dad's reply as he maneuvered him onto the couch.

Peter huffed, pulling his bag off of his back and hugging it to his chest, not looking at either of his dads as they stood in front of him. He knew what they were going to tell him. They were going to bar him from being Spider-Man, and he wasn't going to listen. They might as well save their breath. They couldn't stop him. 

“Peter, we wanted you to know that—“ Steve tried to say.

“Sirs, Agent Coulson is on the line,” JARVIS announced, interrupting them.

“Put him through,” Tony said immediately.

“Captain, Stark, AIM has mobilized and is attacking the Baxter Building. The Fantastic Four need the Avengers,” the agent said over the line, his voice clipped and sharp.

Steve and Tony were on the move immediately, and Peter stood up, watching them run in different directions. “Wait, what does AIM want with the Fantastic Four?” he called after them.

“It doesn't concern you!” Tony replied as he hurried toward his workshop to get his suit.

“But—“

“Do your homework!” Steve called from the bedroom where he kept his uniform. It took only a minute before he was out again, fully dressed with a comm in his ear, barking instructions to the team.

Peter could only watch as Iron Man flew by the large window covering most of the wall in the living room, with Captain America tucked under his arm. There was smoke billowing in the distance where the Baxter building was. There were helicopters flooding the scene, from SHIELD Peter assumed. He walked up to the glass and pressed his hands against it, watching without breathing. He could see the firefight on the ground, though he couldn't see the figures well enough. His parents were down there, fighting untold amounts of AIM members. So were the rest of the Avengers, and SHIELD, and— Peter jerked back with a gasp as one of the helicopters exploded midair, raining debris.

Do his homework? Yeah, right.

Peter had his clothes off and his suit on in a matter of moments, and he was in the elevator the next moment. He didn't go down the sixty stories but up one to the roof, running to the edge the moment the doors opened. He skidded to a halt once he realized something; he'd never jumped from this height before. The velocity of his descent was going to be extreme by the time he got close enough to the surrounding buildings to shoot a web. The world tilted as he stared down, and he took a couple steps back. Shit, this was crazy; maybe he should just go to the ground floor and work from there.

He heard the distinct sound of impact and an explosion, and he looked up to see the quinjet barreling toward the Baxter building, its right side spewing fire. He didn't even blink before he jumped off the Tower, and it was a heartbeat's time before he was falling so fast that everything was blurring and all he could hear was air rushing in his ears. He tried to moved his arms, but it felt like the wind was crushing against him, keeping him from stretching out. For a moment he thought he was going to die from impact with the ground, unable to help his family or the team.

Gritting his teeth, he tucked his head in, forcing his body to flip so he could shoot his webs between his legs, jerking himself out of the fall. His arms tugged so hard he thought they were going to be ripped off, and he screamed as he arced through the air. The pain wasn't enough to make him stop. He had to get to his parents, had to twist and pull himself faster and faster, keeping his eyes centered on the Baxter building. 

When he dropped to a crouch on the corner of the national bank roof, everything around him was mayhem. People were running and screaming, fleeing from the scene. Cars were overturned, and their alarms were blaring, accompanying the sound of lasers being fired and things exploding. In the midst of it all, Peter still thought the yellow HazMat suits that the droves of AIM forces were wearing were ridiculous, with their cylindrical helmets and such. Though that thought was swiftly crushed by the realization that, crap, he was going to have to fight AIM!

So, yeah, that was fine, no biggie. He dove off of the bank, belatedly realizing he had been crouching on a gargoyle like a certain Dark Knight, but he didn't have time to geek out before he was swinging from another web and kicking the helmet off of someone that was shooting at civilians. It all became rather hectic after that. He webbed some laser guns out of some hands and spun to whip them around the knock a few people out. That was a pretty slick move, even if his original intent had been to use the momentum caused by the guns to tie the three AIM goons up. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

Peter worked his way toward the center of the madness, webbing people to the sides of buildings and cars as he went. Someone grabbed his foot—someone really strong—and he was smashed onto the asphalt with a force that probably broke something. He'd feel it when his adrenalin wore off. He stared, wide-eyed and terrified, up at an AIM member whose oversized suit could barely contain his mass. He raised his hands over his head, locking them together, and Peter brought his hands up to try and web—something, he wasn't sure. But with a sound kind of like _thok!_ an arrow embedded itself into the gargantuan man's side. He looked at it as if he didn't feel it, like it was a bug that had landed on him, before it lit up like a Christmas tree, and he started convulsing and gargling as electricity ended his motor skills. When it stopped, Peter rolled away with a cry as the man fell toward him.

Staring at the man's immobile form, he panted, before he squeaked when a hand grabbed him around the bicep and jerked him onto his feet. He was suddenly face to face with Hawkeye, who had a serious expression that he had never before seen on him. Hawkeye gave him a shake. “Keep your wits about you, kid!” he shouted to him over the chaos around them and the blood rushing in his ears. Then he pointed down the street. “Captain America and Iron Man are in the center of the fighting. They might need your help.” Peter swallowed and nodded, lifting a hand to web the nearest building. But then Hawkeye called to him, “Hey, kid!” and he looked back to find him smiling. “We're even now.” And he shot a nearby goon without even looking.

In the process of getting down the street, Peter spotted many familiar faces. He zipped by Mockingbird beating the tar out of five guys at once. He webbed a guy that was going to shoot Black Panther from behind a car in the face. He saw a green and white blur that was Quicksilve relieving a dozen guys of their weapons. Wolverine was doing some serious damage to a giant robot that probably housed a very terrified man. The Vision was shorting out enemy tech left and right, while the Human Torch blazed by in the sky.

Peter nearly swung right into Wasp, and he wrapped himself around a street lamp to avoid her. As he was groaning, she buzzed right up into his face. “Pe—Spider-Man! What are you doing here? You're going to get yourself killed!” she cried at him, sounding very big for such a small woman.

He shook his head at her. “I'll be fine! I've already taken out like twenty guys. Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'm just going to go and thin the herd around my dads so they can do what they do best and end this fight.”

She bobbed in the air for a second, before she looked over as something exploded in the direction he'd come from. She looked back at him and took a breath. “You be careful, you understand me? If things get too heavy, you get your sixteen-year-old butt the hell outta there. You got me, mister?!”

Peter nodded emphatically, and he wished he could smile at her without taking off his mask. “Got it, Wasp. See you when this is all done.” And he shot away with a _fwip!_

His dads were dealing with a particularly nasty wave of baddies, made of regular foot soldiers with crazy guns, a few of those steroid freaks and some guys in robot armor. Captain America was on the ground, blocking laser fire and returning it with one of the AIM guns he'd picked up somewhere. Iron Man was aerial support, shooting holes in the robots and making sure they didn't get to his husband. 

Peter had a moment of awe to watch his dad in red, white and blue move, his muscles bulging and straining under his suit. The way he gritted his teeth into a snarl and glared without the normally kind, gentle eyes was indeed a sight. He'd seen his dad upset when he and his other dad were arguing, but it was nothing like this. This was his dad releasing all of that strength that he held back all other times. This was righteous violence incarnate.

One of the huge, Hulk-like goons was barreling toward his dad, and he put his shield up, ready to take the hit. Peter jumped onto a nearby car and webbed the charger in the face, covering the window of his helmet and causing him to stutter and pull at the webbing. Captain America looked surprised for half a second before he kicked the goon's legs out from under him and punched him hard enough to shatter any normal person's skull. The charger didn't move.

Captain America turned, spotting Peter and letting his taking on a vulnerable, parental face for a second before the hardness slipped back into place. “What are you doing here, young man!” he shouted to him, before turning and clothes-lining a particularly ambitious goon with a knife.

“Helping!” Peter answered, flipping off the car and landing feet first on someone. “Isn't that obvious?” He somersaulted into a group, spinning on his hand and kicking a few people in the face with a move that would make veteran break dancers jealous. 

“Go home!” His dad ordered, throwing his shield and taking off the legs of a robot that was trying to shoot Iron Man out of the air. It slid to the side with its arms flailing comically. “This is no place for a teenager!”

Peter webbed the backs of a few of the smaller goons and pulled them right off their feet, before he glued their hands and feet to the street. “Careful, you might give away my secret identity!” he called back, before he jumped over the heads of two others, stealing their weapons in the process.

Dodging and weaving through laser fire made Peter feel like he was dancing. His senses went off, telling him a split second before each blast, like he had memorized a song and knew each note before it happened. He lost himself in his movements, the pain of bruising his knuckles and heels on helmets draining away as he focused on just taking as many of them down as he could. 

It was amazing how he could push his body so far beyond the limits it had before. When he was a kid, he used to get winded going up more than flight of stairs. As a teenager he still couldn't do very well in gym. He used to just stand there and surrender during dodge ball, knowing he wouldn't have the reflexes required to get out of the way of any projectiles, and hoped that Flash didn't hit him in the face and break his glasses. 

But now? Well, now he was as nimble as a spider, and he was loving it. He could feel his body twisting and contorting in a way that only people with extensive training should have been able to accomplish. But this felt completely natural to him, this exaggeration of his body. It was exhilarating. He probably shouldn't have been enjoying punching, kicking and webbing so much, but dammit did he ever. He barely registered when he got hit, or when laser fire grazed him. No, he was a leaf on the wind, watch how he soared. 

And oh God, really? Did his brain just do a Serenity reference as he brained one goon against another? Calm down, brain, you're getting out of control. Bad things happened to Wash anyway. Better not jinx yourself.

Peter stopped punching and kicking when he ran out of targets, and he was breathing hard as he looked around, feeling a bit manic. He jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder, and he nearly punched his dad in the face, but his fist was caught in a large red glove. He swallowed and looked into his dad's blue eyes. “Oh, hi.”

Captain America lowered his hand, holding onto Peter's and giving a look that was somewhere between 'thank goodness you're not dead' and 'you are so grounded.' “Time for you to go home, young man,” he said, very serious and fatherly at the moment.

“What?” Peter asked, astounded, before he gestured frantically at their surroundings. “Didn't you see what I did?” They were surrounded by unarmed goons that were either unconscious or groaning and wishing they were unconscious. 

“I did,” his dad said. “And you did very well, but now it's time for you to leave.”

“But—!”

Iron Man whooshed in, landing next to them with a metallic thunk. His faceplate went up, and his face was manic anger. “What the hell are you doing here?!” he barked in Peter's face. “Are you insane?! You could have been killed! Get your ass back to the Tower right this goddamn second, or I swear you won't leave it ever again except for school! No more skateboarding, no more movies, no more mall!” He pointed in the direction of the Tower with one gleaming gauntlet. 

Peter stared, too shocked to speak for a second, before he recovered and surged up into his father's space. “You blind, old man? I just kicked just as much butt as the two of you, and you want to send me home? I'm useful, or are you too worried you won't be able to protect me that you can't see it? Well guess what! I don't need you to save me! I'm not a kid and I'm not a civilian anymore! I'm Spider-Man!”

Shock was an expression he hadn't seen on his dad's face many times, but he was glad it was there now, even if it was quickly replaced with anger again. “Go home! Right now! I'm warning you!”

“Warning me?! What could you...” Peter trailed off into unintelligible noises when he saw the floating mass of grinning teeth and tech behind his dad. Oh God, that was MODOK, _the_ MODOK.

Iron Man turned, his faceplate snapping down as he put himself firmly between MODOK and his son. Captain America had the same idea, pulling Peter behind him as he moved side by side with his husband. Peter stared over their shoulders, horrified but also weirdly amused by the absurdity that was MODOK. But really who wouldn't think that a giant floating head with too small arms and legs is funny? Though seeing him smile would've probably have made Peter pee himself if he were a few years younger.

“Well, if it isn't the good Captain and Iron Man!” MODOK said in a voice that was indescribable in the way it made Peter want to laugh and vomit at the same time. “I see that my little pawns put forth a good effort, but they weren't quite capable of subduing you. That's quite alright.”

“It's over, Marshmallow Head,” Iron Man said, his voice now digitized and carrying some static. He gestured to the bodies of AIM goons around them as well as to the destruction. “Your buddies are defeated and your plan is thwarted. Just give up before you join your minions.”

“My plan is thwarted?” MODOK echoed, before he let out a terrible laugh. “You think you're so smart with your degrees and your toys! You can't even begin to comprehend my plan!”

“So enlighten us,” Captain America said, stepping forward.

MODOK huffed and pointed up at the smoking Baxter Building. “Even now while you think that you have won, while your comrades are distracted, my plan is coming to fruition! Dr Reed Richards is the only one that knows my plan, and that is because he is part of it. You see, he is in possession of a equation that—“

Peter webbed MODOK's giant mouth, shocking him into a muffle, before he webbed him again. And again. And again. Finally his whole face was covered in webs, and Peter held onto the ends tight, digging in his heels as MODOK futilely tried to use his too short arms to try to swat the webbing away.

“What are you doing?!” both his dads asked at the same time.

Peter just let out a laugh, grin turning a bit manic under his mask, and he was pulled a couple inches across the cement. “He was monologuing! He was trying to distract us with his stupid ranting, but we already know what we need to know.” He looked between them. “He's not the threat. So we to get rid of him then deal with whatever's up there.” He tipped his chin at the Baxter building. “Captain America, with me.” He brought the ropes of webbing together. “Iron Man, go long!”

His dads looked at each other, before they did as instructed, Iron Man shooting off down the street as Captain America bracketed Peter's body with his arms and took the webs in hand. Together they turned, twisting about and using MODOK's heft against him to spin him around them and let him go like an old fashion sling. Peter stumbled, a bit dizzy, but his dad held up. MODOK went screeching into Iron Man, who blasted him out of the air and onto the ground, where he, or rather his tech, exploded very impressively.

Iron Man came zooming back, dropping down in front of him and putting his hands on his hips. “Gotta hand it to you, kid, you're pretty damn smart. We would have listened to his whole spiel and wasted some serious time. Now we're going to go up there.” He pointed to the Baxter Building where smoke was still pluming out of the top. “Can you stay here and let us handle this?”

“You're asking?” Peter said, smiling under his mask.

“I'm asking.”

Peter let out a tired sigh, before he nodded. Suddenly his body felt so heavy. He just wanted to plop down on the ground and take a nap. “I'll stay here and make sure none of these guys wake up and try any funny business.” 

That made his dads laugh a little, and Captain America squeezed his arms affectionately, before he walked around him to join Iron Man. He stepped on his boot and slung his arm over his metal shoulders as a gauntlet came around his waist. “See you in a bit, kiddo,” he said, winking at him as Iron Man lifted up. Peter took a step back, watching them lift off, and he laughed as his dad gave him a little salute. 

Then everything was pain. He didn't hear it. He definitely didn't sense it. But all of the sudden there was a hole in his chest from surprise laser fire, a sizzling, burning hole that felt like hot coals had been shoved into his rib cage. He had a moment to think, 'What the hell?' before suddenly it didn't hurt at all. He turned as he covered the seeping wound with his hands, feeling hot liquid ooze through his fingers. There was an AIM goon about ten feet away, lying on his back with a gun in his shaky hand. Peter dropped to his knees as the man dropped his arm. He tasted blood and felt it bubble under his mask as he heard the distinct noise of boots on the ground, coming toward him. The world swam, and he fell to his side as it started to go dark.

“Peter!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [crypticvengeance](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crypticvengeance/pseuds/crypticvengeance) for the editing.
> 
> Oh God, I am so sorry that it took so long to churn this chapter out. :( A lot of things happened in my life that stalled my writing. First and foremost, I moved, which was a disaster and a half, ugh. Then my dog died. She was sixteen, so it was expected, but it still hurt. I fell into a depression for weeks where I couldn't write a thing, no RPing or even just dumb stuff. Not a thing. Then I got _very invested_ in a new fandom. (Teen Wolf, yes, oh holy crap, this show. If you like it, be prepared for fics of that.) Thankfully stewing over this new fandom brought me out of my funk, and hopefully I can finish this damn fic now. There's not much left, as you might have guessed. Everything's coming to a close.
> 
> Next chapter: Why?


	18. Superhero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the love of your family and friends that makes you great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [ComingUpBlue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ComingUpBlue).

At around four years old, Peter was an absolute chatterbox. He talked about anything and everything all the time, and his dads didn't discourage it. Truth be told, they were actually very proud of the way Peter's vocabulary was progressing. So when their little boy started to talk, Tony and Steve just let him. He loved talking about his preschool, especially about another young boy named Harry who was apparently his best friend. 

He talked for an hour straight once, about this cityscape he made out of blocks, making sure to put the Avengers tower in the middle. He had cried when another boy named Eugene had kicked it all down, but Harry had defended him by throwing blocks at the attacker. It landed Harry in time out, but it had been worth it.

“Oh, oh, I learned about this new game today,” Peter was saying as Tony carried him toward the kitchen for his afternoon snack of caramel and apple slices. 

“What's that?” Tony said with a smile.

“It's called the Floor is Lava. When someone says 'lava!' you jump up off the floor or you're dead! Then when they say 'floor' that means it's safe again.” He giggled like it was the greatest thing in the world as Tony chuckled, before he looked around and suddenly squealed, “Lava!”

Tony took a moment, before he let out a little 'oh!' and stumbled up onto the couch, standing on the middle cushion in his socked feet with his son on his hip. He glanced around as Peter giggled up a storm, before he walked to the end of the couch and looked over the arm like it was a drop off a cliff. “Look at all that lava,” he said, and his son snickered and snorted into his small hands. “It would be a shame if I _dropped you into it!_ ” He laughed maniacally as he pretended like he was going to drop his flailing and squealing son.

“No, daddy, don't drop me!” Peter screeched, before he clung to Tony's shirt when he was brought back up against his chest. He giggled and snorted as Tony laughed, before he looked up. “Okay, floor.”

Tony stuck the tip of his tongue out at him, before he hopped over the arm of the couch and landed on the ground to head towards the kitchen for lunch. He sat Peter in one of the chairs and narrowed his eyes a little as the boy grinned up at him. “What?” he asked suspiciously. 

“Lava!” Peter cried with a laugh.

Tony squeaked out a “Not fair!” as he collapsed on the ground, wriggling around and pretending to be burning to death. Well, a muted version of what that actually looked like. “Save yourself!” he gasped before his wild limbs went still on the ground and he stuck his tongue out of his gaping mouth.

Peter laughed so hard he ended up with a serious case of the hiccups, so Tony counted that as a win.

###### 

The dishwasher was out again, which was not unusual given it was ten years old and made out of 50% duct tape. At least this time it hadn't flooded the kitchen or set fire to the curtains. It had just stopped mid-wash, leaving all of the dishes covered in soap stains. May had just sighed when it had chugged to a stop and got up to unload it.

After she had dumped all of the dishes in hot, soapy water, a sleepy six-year-old Peter had come into the kitchen, looking so adorable in his pajamas covered in cartoon Thors, lightning bolts and Mjölnirs. He rubbed an eye, yawned, and then he blinked blearily up at her.

"Mornin', Aunt May," he mumbled at her, doing a swaying walk toward the kitchen table.

"Good morning, Peter," she said, scrubbing at a pot.

"What's for breakfast?" he asked.

"I am going to make biscuits with chocolate gravy when your uncle gets home," she told him before she dunked the pot into clean water then picked up a towel to dry it.

"Oh," Peter said with the voice of a child that was regretting getting up so early. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, the dishwasher broke down again, so I'm washing the dishes by hand," she told him, before she smiled at him over her shoulder. "You know how this old thing gets." She toed at the machine.

Peter blinked at her, adjusting the glasses on his face. "Can I help?" he asked, sitting up straighter with intent.

"You don't have to, honey," she told him.

"I wanna."

She huffed and nearly told him to say his words more clearly, but she supposed he could have a pass since it wasn't even eight in the morning. "Alright, drag a chair over. You can dry."

Peter grinned, hopping down and getting behind the chair to push it over to the counter, clambering up on top of it. He picked up the towel and took the damp plate he was offered.

May sighed as they fell into a rhythm, smiling as Peter very dutifully dried every bit of each dish he was handed like he was trying out for the Olympics in dish drying. Even though they didn't speak, she was grateful for the company. She spent far too much time by herself when Ben was working overnight shifts and Peter was with Tony and Steve. It seemed like every time she saw Peter, he'd grown an inch or two.

That thought made her smile. "You know, sweetheart, soon enough you won't need that chair." He paused to look at her with his eyes owlishly huge behind his lenses. "I bet you'll grow up to be taller then me and your uncle."

Peter's eyes went even wider. “You think so?”

She just leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Yup. Parker men hit pretty serious growth spurts.”

Peter giggled at that. “But Uncle Ben is kinda short.”

She shushed him with a finger to her lips. “He's not short. He's just slouchy.” She hunched over as she drew up her shoulders. “Like the Hunchback of Notre Dame!” At that they both burst into giggles, before a sound from the entryway caught their attention. A familiar voice called out that he was home. She quickly leaned in and hushed Peter. “Don't tell him. He's sensitive about it.”

Peter nodded rapidly then winked at her. “Our secret, Aunt May.”

She smiled. “Our secret.”

###### 

“The Wonder Wheel was built in 1918,” Steve said excitedly as he and Peter, determined to be a big boy by not holding Steve's hand, walked through the entrance gates of Luna Park. “When we were little, about your age, Bucky and I used to climb to the roof of my parents's brownstone during the summer and watch the wheel of lights.”

He stopped in a lane of food carts, setting his hand on Peter's shoulder and pointing him toward the Ferris wheel. “I imagine most of the parts have been replaced over the years, but it looks like the same old wheel from when I was a kid.”

“That's cool, Dad,” Peter said in his best humoring voice, and Steve couldn't blame him. Eight-year-olds these days weren't that interested in history of a hundred years back.

Steve just smiled. He wasn't going to ruin this trip by boring his son to death, so he turned him toward some game stalls. There was duck shooting, darts to be thrown at balloons, stacked milk bottles, basketball and ring toss. Peter had _interesting_ hand-eye coordination, which was a little painful to watch. Steve kept wanting to step in and take over, but he didn't.

Watching his son throw wildly with his shoulder rather than his wrist took him back to sneaking into the parks with Bucky, who was infinitely more confident and coordinated than him. Bucky would stand next to him, guide his arm, tell him where to toss the ball. It made his heart hurt to think about it, but he shook the memory away before it went any further. This day wasn't about Bucky. It was about his son.

Steve stepped forward as Peter was glaring at a baseball like it had personally offended him. “Here, kiddo,” he said setting taking his wrist as he set his other hand on his opposite shoulder. “Don't throw from your shoulder like a slingshot. You might pull something.” He pulled the boy's arm in. “Use your elbow and flick your wrist. You'll get more power behind it and be able to control the throw better.” 

He stood up and watched as Peter tested out this technique a couple times before actually putting any force behind it. The ball barreled into the rightmost milk bottles on the bottom, causing the whole structure to collapse.

Peter jumped up and down. “I did it! I did it!” He turned and tugged on Steve's sleeve excitedly. “Daddy, did you see? I did it!” 

“I saw, buddy,” Steve answered with a laugh, before he ruffled Peter's hair. “Go get your prize.”

Peter squealed before he rushed up to the stall where the operator was offering him either a green alligator with black dots or a bright orange tiger with white paws. Peter waffled for a second, before he took the alligator with a big thank you and rushed back over to Steve.

“I want to play more games!” the boy announced, grinning ear to ear with his alligator pressed to his cheek.

“We can play whatever you want, bud,” Steve told him, nodding down the alley of game stalls, before he followed Peter wherever he wanted to go. 

They ended up with quite a few stuffed animals, most of which smelled suspiciously like fried butter. They went out to the parking lot to put the toys in the car, after getting their hands stamped to allow re-admittance. Next they ate some questionable corndogs then headed toward the ride part of the park.

“Do you want to go on that one?” Steve asked, pointing to a roller coaster with gentle slopes, a slow speed and a line of cars shaped like a blue snake. 

Peter huffed at him. “That one's for babies,” he said, puffing out his chest. He pointed at the Wonder Wheel. “I wanna go on that!”

Steve looked up at the Ferris wheel, remembering the first time he'd ridden it. Bucky hadn't appreciated having his shoes vomited on. “Are you sure? It goes up pretty high. You won't be frightened?”

Peter stared at him incredulously for a long moment, before he rolled his eyes so dramatically. “Dad, we live in a tower. Sixty stories up!” He crossed his arms and jerked his chin toward the Ferris wheel. “That's nothing.”

Occasionally there were times when Steve wanted to bury his face in his hands and not come out. This was one of those times. “You're right, Peter. Let's go.”

“Yay!” Peter exclaimed, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the line to the ride.

###### 

Peter's tenth birthday was fast approaching, and Ben was especially excited for this one, because he had the perfect gift in mind. He was going to get Peter a bike, and he was going to teach him how to ride it. He could just imagine it. He would hold onto the middle of the handlebars and the back of the seat, jogging alongside Peter as his nephew got the handle of pedaling. Call him a sentimentalist, but he wanted to do this not just for the bonding opportunity with Peter but so that he could tell Richard all about it next time he visited his grave. 

The weekend before Peter's birthday was one where he spent it with Ben and May, and Ben broke out a magazine after dessert that Saturday night. "Hold your horses, kiddo," Ben said with a laugh as Peter tried to book it into the living room, no doubt to play the Wii they had hooked up to their beaten up old TV.

Peter blinked at him before he sat back down, peering at the magazine. "What's up, Uncle Ben?"

"I wanted you to take a look at this for me." He spread out the magazine in front of Peter, who just blinked at it. "You birthday is in a week, so I wanted you to pick out a bike for your present. It won't be a surprise, but it will be exactly what you want."

Peter slowly lifted his gaze, looking at Ben over the rims of his glasses. He fidgeted. "Dad already bought me a bike," he said quietly.

Ben felt his enthusiasm rush out of him. "He did?" 

Peter nodded. "Yeah, a couple weeks ago because I got all A's on my report card."

"I see," Ben said as he leaned back and shut the magazine. "Go ahead and go play your game. I'll figure out another thing to get you." Peter hopped off his chair and headed for the living room. "I'm proud you for the good grades you're getting," he called after him, and Peter grinned at him over his shoulder.

May came out of the kitchen as Ben was folding the magazine. "I should have guessed that his parents would have gotten him a bike already. They get him everything," he grumbled as May moved behind him. She set her hand on his shoulder as he sighed. "Now what are we supposed to buy him?"

"I'm sure we'll think of something," May said with a smile and a squeeze of his shoulder.

"Hope so," Ben replied.

At Peter's birthday party, Ben and May were prepared. They had done a lot of research (meaning asking friends with kids) about what young boys like. They had figured out a gift, and they were very hopeful that he liked it.

Peter blew through wrapping paper like a hurricane, ending up with a pile of video games, the latest toys and some books. When Ben handed him his last present, Peter turned it over in his hands. Then he ripped into it and let out a slow gasp at what he saw.

"A skateboard!" Peter squealed, and all his friends leaned in, muttering excitedly about it. "I've wanted one of these forever!" He hurried over to the sidewalk of the park they were in, putting the wheels down on the cement.

"Hold on a minute, kid," Ben said with a laugh, going over to hold Peter's elbow as the boy got up onto the board. Peter fell immediately, but after his 'oof!' he burst out into laughter. "You alright?" Ben asked as he helped him up.

"Yeah, I'm great," Peter said as he dusted off his butt. "I'll get better. Will you help me, Uncle Ben?" 

Ben grinned at him. "Of course, kiddo. Anything you need."

###### 

"I'm surprised you don't blame us," came a voice through the blackness, cutting the dreamy haze away bit by bit. "If I were you, I would." He couldn't tell who the voice was coming from.

"It wouldn't make a difference. Peter is old enough to make his own decisions." Was that Aunt May?

"We tried to keep him safe," came another voice, one filled with guilt and regret.

"I know, Tony." That was definitely Aunt May. "You two have always had nothing but his best interests at heart. You couldn't have predicted this would happen."

"We'll try harder from now on," Tony insisted.

"You can't keep him locked up. He'll just get out and get hurt again. None of us want that." 

Peter blinked his eyes open, squinting at the bright white hospital lights. His whole body felt heavy, and his mouth was dry while also tasting like copper and butt. He tried to move his hand to rub his eyes, but his arms were like lead, barely even movable. “Wazzit?” he murmured, his voice like a squeaky croak.

His bed was crowded immediately, his dads on one side and his aunt on the other. He could vaguely feel his hands being squeezed as concerned eyes gazed down at him. He licked at his lips for a second, hoping his tongue would stop feeling like sand. "Hey guys," he rasped at them, attempting a smile. "Why the long faces?"

Tony turned his head and snorted into Steve's shoulder as Steve and Aunt May remained solemn. "You could have died, Peter," Steve him softly, holding Peter's hand in both of his now.

"But I didn't," Peter replied as the room did an interesting topsy-turvy jiggle. His stomach protested deeply at that.

"You nearly did," Tony said, laying his hand over what he could get of Peter's fingers through Steve's hands. "If it weren't for your healing abilities, you would have."

The smile dropped right off of Peter's face, and he looked between his parents's and his aunt's face. had it been that bad? "What happened? The last thing I remember was MODOK ranting about something or another." He set his gaze on his dads's faces. "And you guys going up to the Baxter Building."

"You were shot," Steve replied, his eyes dropping to Peter's chest. "Laser fire."

Peter blinked up at him, before he sagged back into the pillows. Oh. That was a lot worse than he had expected. He'd thought some goon had gotten the drop on him and he'd sustained a minor head injury. But this had him laid up and he assumed quite drugged up if the wooziness was anything to go by.

He licked his lips several times before he said the first thing that came to his mind. "Are the Fantastic Four okay?"

That made Tony roll his eyes affectionately as Steve and May patted his hands. "They're fine," Steve told him. "We got everything sorted out, buddy. Don't worry about it."

"Why don't you try to get some more rest, okay?" May asked, using her free hand to push Peter's bangs out of the way. "You've been in and out of consciousness for four days." 

Peter's eyes fluttered as her fingers brushed his cheek. "I hope I didn't say anything embarrassing," he muttered, and when he opened his eyes they were all looking at each other. "Oh no, what did I say?"

Steve gave a cough into his hand. "You practiced proposing to Gwen a couples times," he said with a gentle smile. "It was sweet."

"You went over a few ideas for your final paper in your English class," May supplied with a shrug.

"Then you kept wanting to call Harry because if you died then he needed to delete your browser history." Tony was grinning, and he patted Peter's knee. "If you ever need to do that, just text Jarvis."

With a heartfelt groan, Peter clenched his eyes shut. "I'm going back to sleep, hopefully for a long enough time to stop being really ashamed of myself." He shuffled down a little, freeing his hands to pull his blankets up over his head.

"You're a teenager, Peter. You'll have to sleep for a while yet," Tony told him, and Peter could hear that he was still smiling.

Peter just whined.

###### 

The next time Peter woke up, his body was less heavy and he could think more clearly, but his chest ached like crazy. He moaned, bringing his hand up to pull the collar of his gown down to look at the bandages covering his chest. He wondered how big of a hole the laser fire had made and if he would have a scar. He hoped he wouldn't have breathing issues for the rest of his life.

"Hey, little man," came Tony's groggy voice, and Peter looked over to find him stretching his arms over his head before pushing a blanket off himself. A glance towards the windows proved that it was either night or early morning. Tony got up, popped his back, and then ran a hand through his own hair. "I am getting too old to sleep in chairs."

"Where's other dad and Aunt May?" Peter asked after he had glanced around.

"Your other dad ran home for a bit to get a change of clothes for you. We convinced your aunt to go get something to eat that wasn't hospital cafeteria food and to get some sleep in a bed. She'll be back in the morning." Tony sat down on the edge of the bed next to Peter's hip.

"Oh," Peter said, before he gave a sigh through his nose. He scanned the room for a moment before his eyes landed on Tony's. "I should apologize, shouldn't I?"

"For what?" Tony asked, his voice passive.

"For not listening to you? For disobeying you? For getting hurt?" Peter suggested, knowing that falling on his sword probably hurt less than his chest did right then.

Tone shook his head at him. "No, Peter, I understand. Trust me, I really understand." His shoulders sagged and for a moment he looked his age, before he straightened up again. "When it's a sane hour of the day and we're all here, me, Steve and May, we're going to have a talk. We get it now. We can't stop you from being a superhero, but we can hopefully help prevent this—" He gestured at Peter's bedridden form. "—from happening again."

“Yeah?” Peter asked, his brows going up. He pushed himself up into a sitting position slowly, gritting his teeth together at the painful tugging in his chest. “What does that mean exactly?”

“It means no more illegal vigilantism,” Tony said, his hand lifted as if to help Peter before it dropped back down again. “That means you'll have to go talk to someone at SHIELD and get sanctioned. You'll get a handler.”

“Like Agent Coulson?” Peter's eyes lit up, and he grinned widely despite the pain he was in. “Will I get to join the Avengers?”

Tony's eyebrow twitched up as he smirked. “There are other teams besides the Avengers, you know.”

“Yeah, but all the best heroes are part of the Avengers,” Peter said, aware he was quite biased, but really, that was his dream. He wanted to fight crime alongside with his parents and the people he'd grown up with. 

“I can't exactly argue with you,” Tony said with a huff of a laugh. “The point is though, with SHIELD, you'll get training that will better prepare you for facing assholes like members of AIM.” He leaned in a bit, tilting his head. “You'll get combat training and knowledge of what you're up against. Hopefully that will give you some protection against getting hurt again.”

Peter looked down at his lap, chewing at his bottom lip. Being SHIELD sanctioned meant giving up his anonymity (at least to them) and being a part of this organization that would control what he could and couldn't do, to a certain extent. No more midnight runs beating up thugs in back-streets. He'd heard Tony complain about the politics of SHIELD on numerous occasions, and even Steve had admitted that the amount of secrets being kept from them worried him. Did Peter want that?

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Tony moving closer and wrapping Peter in his arms, making sure not to lean too heavily into Peter's chest. "When I saw you fall, my heart stopped," he whispered so softly into Peter's ear. "I had never felt anything like that before. I thought—I thought that if you were gone then...” He held him a little tighter, and Peter made a soft noise of malcontent at the pain in his chest even as his fingers curled tightly into Tony's shirt. “I can't lose you, Peter. I can't.”

Peter swallowed, nodding into his dad's shoulder. “Okay.”

“Be careful, alright?” Tony said, drawing back to look at Peter's face. 

Nodding more, Peter brought up a hand to wipe away tears as they fell from his eyes.

###### 

Peter's dads and Aunt May were staring at him expectantly as he fiddled with the sheet covering his lower half. He was trying to figure out how best to word this confession that he'd kept bottled up and squirreled away for months now. It was so close to his heart that he was afraid no one else would understand it. How could they? It had been haunting him, leaving phantom scratches along his mind. It was his obsession. 

“It's my fault,” he finally decided, lifting his eyes to look at them. They just gazed at him, confusion on their faces now. “It's my fault Uncle Ben died.”

“Honey,” Aunt May tried, but he shook his head at her. 

“No, you don't understand. I was there. I saw the man that shot him.” He lifted his hands and scrubbed at his face, before he sighed. He told them about the convenience store clerk, and how he'd thought it was fitting that he got robbed because he'd been such a jerk. He told them about the chocolate milk and that moment of camaraderie they'd shared. “I know that as a hero, you're supposed to stop all crime, but I thought—I thought that this guy was just serving up a bit of justice of his own. I thought he was cool!”

His heart leapt up into his throat as he pressed his knuckles into his eyes, his vision bleeding from red to white as he pushed hard enough for it to hurt. “And then he shot Uncle Ben! I could have stopped him before—before they even crossed paths. I could have—I...” He dropped his hands with a pathetic whine of a sound. “Uncle Ben tried to stop him because he knew it was the right thing.”

Peter swallowed a couple times and drew in a ragged breath. “So I've been trying to find that guy that killed Uncle Ben ever since. Because if I find him, then I can bring him to justice, y'know? I can make up for what I did. And maybe then Uncle Ben could—could rest—I—“

“Peter, it's not your fault your uncle died,” Steve told him in that voice that usually meant he was using his kid gloves.

Peter hated it. “It is!” he shouted back. “Nothing you say can change that! If I can just find the man that killed him, then I—I can...” His fingers flexed in his lap before curling in his lap.

“Kill him?” Tony supplied neutrally. “Make everything better?”

Biting his lip almost hard enough to draw blood, Peter didn't answer.

“Your uncle wouldn't have wanted you to become a killer, Peter,” Aunt May said, and he couldn't look at her. “You're right when you said that nothing we can say will make you feel better. Only time can do that.” She got up from her chair and moved over to lay her smaller, frailer hands on his before squeezing them solidly. He looked up at her, and she gave him a watery smile. “If you want to be a hero, Peter, do that. Don't go after vengeance.”

“But—“ Peter tried in a whisper.

Aunt May just leaned in and put their foreheads together. “Please, Peter, be my hero.”

Peter's next breath came out in a trembling, keening way, the tears and the hiccups starting up immediately. Steve and Tony came up on either side of him, locking arms around the two of them. Peter couldn't prove it, but he was sure that not all of the tears that hit the blankets were his.

###### 

Peter had been out of school for two weeks before his doctor said it was okay to go back. He was not looking forward to it, because while his parents had been able to use the medical emergency excuse with the administration, Peter still had to tell his friends why he was out. He still had to talk to Gwen. Though maybe since he had been avoiding her for days before his absence, she wouldn't question him. Maybe she would let it slide.

“Peter Parker!”

Maybe not.

Gwen was standing about thirty feet down the hall from him, looking as incensed as he had ever seen her. People between them parted like the Red Sea, going eerily quiet as they held still in anticipation of a show down. He raised his hand to wave at her, but suddenly she was stomping toward him like a bull, nostrils flaring and everything. He squeaked but just watched the oncoming storm like a deer in headlights.

“You! Come with me!” Gwen grabbed his wrist and jerked him into a stumbling gait behind her, almost throwing him against some stacked chairs in an empty, disused classroom. She locked the door before she got very close to him, her nose inches from his. “Where hell have you been? I've been trying to call you for two weeks. Your dads wouldn't tell me anything, just that you couldn't come to school. Even your Aunt May didn't give me any information!”

“Uh,” Peter attempted to cut in.

She steamrolled right over him. “What happened to you? Were you in jail? Were you in quarantine? Did the shadowing organization that the Avengers answer to send you on a mission to a third world country?”

“How do you know about—“

“You better tell me right now, Peter Parker, or I swear I—I'll break up with you!” She threw up her hands as she took a step back, glaring hotly at him. “You've been acting weird for forever, and this is just the last straw! I can't have a boyfriend that gets all cagey and withdrawn and won't tell me anything. I won't!” She jabbed her hand forward sharply and smacked him on the chest, looking horrified and guilty when he hissed and grabbed the spot. “Peter?”

Peter rubbed at his chest. “I deserved that, I did.” She furrowed her brows at him in agreement, and he sighed. “I'm sorry I didn't contact you, Gwen.”

“You're _sorry_?” she bit out, before she crossed her arms. “Peter, for a while I honestly thought you were dead.”

Peter lowered his eyes, before he swallowed. “Sorry.”

“Where were you, you asshole?” she asked, her voice a little broken as her bottom lip trembled.

Straightening up and scratching at the back of his head, he realized that in order for Gwen to trust him again, he couldn't give her some vague half truth or spin some lie to appease her. She'd know. She was too damn smart and intuitive not to see right past anything he could come up with. 

So he took a deep breath and let it out. “You know how...” He licked his lips, gathering all of his courage. “You know when the Avengers and Fantastic Four were fight AIM a couple weeks ago when the Baxter Building was attacked?” 

Gwen blinked at him, before she turned her head to give him a sideline glance. “What does that have to do with anything?” Her eyes went a little wider as she stepped closer and touched his arm. “Were you close to the action? Did you get injured?”

Peter saw an out, but he didn't take it. It would have been too easy to pretend he'd been a civilian that had gotten in the way. “You know how Spider-Man got shot?” 

She looked frantically between his eyes, searching for an answer she wasn't getting yet. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Peter set his hands on her arms, urging her to take a step back, before he gathered the hems of his shirts and lifted them up to show her. One his right pec was a circular scar about the size of a silver dollar. It was pink, and it was still sensitive. When he stared at it in the mirror, he wondered if his healing abilities would someday make it fade into nothingness. After that thought, he wondered if he wanted it to fade or did he want it to remain, as a reminder to always check twice.

“Peter,” Gwen whispered, her eyes trained on the scar. “Peter, you...” She lifted her gaze, her eyes shimmering with moisture.

“I was going to tell you,” Peter said as he lowered his shirts and smoothed them down. “I just couldn't find the right time.”

“I can't believe this,” she said, her fingers brushing through her bangs. “I should have guessed, given who your parents are...” Suddenly she pushed him, a hard shove against his chest, though she avoided his scar this time. “Fuck you, Peter Parker!” she shouted as he staggered back against the chairs. “I'm not going to be some superhero's girlfriend that wonders every night whether he'll live or die. I go through that enough with my dad.”

Peter felt his mouth go dry. “Does that mean...?” he prompted in a whisper.

“It means you better be careful, mister!” she barked at him, getting close so she could to look him directly in the eye again. “And you better call me every night and tell me what you been doing.” She was speaking with her teeth gritted together, and Peter thought that was both beautiful and terrifying. “You understand me?”

Carefully, as though afraid she was going to bite him, he brought up his arms and pulled her in close. She melted into him with a 'hmph!', wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face against him. “I understand,” he told her, smiling into her hair.

###### 

So, the helicarrier was the coolest damn thing that Peter had ever seen. For one thing, it was a _boat in the sky_ and for another the top of it was a runway covered in amazing jets and helicopters. His dads had somehow managed to keep him from looking over the side, probably afraid he was going to dive off and do silly spider acrobatics through the air.

Did Peter want to web swing off the helicarrier? Yes, he did.

As they were walking through the corridors, Peter felt distinctly like a big red and blue sore thumb. He and his dads were all in uniform, and while they were walking confidently he was doing a kind of nervous dance back and forth on his feet. He was bursting with energy, though he couldn't figure out a way to release it with dignity. 

There were SHIELD agents looking down at them from an overhanging walkway. Some were speaking softly to each other, and some were just _watching_. This didn't help his anxiety at all. He wanted to know what they thought of him. Did they appreciate his efforts to clean up New York, or did they think he was a ridiculous upstart that had no right playing in the sandbox of more experienced and worthy heroes?

Maybe they just thought his outfit was stupid. 

Peter should have been watching where he was going, but he was too busy trying to take in everything around him. That was why he ran full force into a very solid body and staggered back, almost landing on his butt. He looked up with a squeak at a tall, intimidating man with an eye patch and an expression that said people would rather walk into fire than bump into him. Backing up, he smacked into his dad's suit with a thunk.

“No, Peter,” Tony said as he urged Peter forward again. “If you want to be a superhero, he's the one you talk to.” 

Peter was about to croak out something about his secret identity, but after a swift glance around he found that the corridor and the walkway above was deserted but for them. Crap, was this guy that scary?

“Peter, this is Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD,” Steve said. “Director Fury, this is our son.”

“Peter Parker,” Fury said with the slightest incline of his head. 

His voice made Peter's skin rise in gooseflesh. “You know who I am?” Peter asked, pointing to himself, before he let out a strange little laugh. “Wait, of course you do. You probably know my Social Security number.”

The corner of Fury's lips twitched just barely. “It's not committed to memory, but it's in your file.”

“I have a file?” Peter asked, perking up a little. He was important enough to have a file. “What's in my file? Is it good things? Or is it, like, how many times I've swung into walls on YouTube videos?” The director lifted his one available eyebrow, and Peter wilted. “Sorry.”

“I've been talking to your parents, kid,” Fury said, moving his hands behind his back. “I understand that you want revenge on the man that killed your uncle, but that's not how it works for SHIELD assets. I get it, I do, but you don't get to work on personal vendettas when you're with us. Your job is to protect the people that need it and help resolve any threats to humanity and Earth. You can be a hero here.”

Peter was staring at the ground, and he watched black boots step into his vision before jumping a little when a solid hand landed on his shoulder. “Now tell me, and think real hard, son, what would your uncle want you to do with all your abilities and your determination?”

Peter was struck dumb with a realization. He had never once asked himself that question. All this time it had been about finding the murderer, making up for his own mistake, and getting what he thought was justice for Uncle Ben's death. He hadn't stopped to wonder what Uncle Ben would tell him if he had known about Peter's new gifts. Peter just didn't know.

He thought back, trying to recall all of the lessons Ben had taught him throughout his life. He was supposed to always help those in need. He was always supposed to put others before himself if he could. He'd worked at the soup kitchen with Uncle Ben and Aunt May every weekend in the winter. He'd liked making a difference, had been proud of himself, and Uncle Ben had told him that taking pride in doing good was the best kind of pride. Always do good, he had told him, if you have the ability to do so.

Peter swallowed hard and lifted his head, standing straight and as tall as he could. “Uncle Ben once told me, 'With great power comes great responsibility.'” He took a deep breath, feeling warmth and the good kind of ache spread through his chest.

Fury's mouth lifted at the corner. “Then that's your answer.” He squeezed Peter's shoulder, before he gave it a friendly pat.

The impact could have knocked Peter off his feet. He felt like he was floating. He could literally feel a turn in his life, a whole new door opening up. He was going to be part of SHIELD. He was going to be a real hero now. 

He would finally honor Uncle Ben's memory.

Fury took a step back and jerked his thumb down the hall. “Come on, kid, let me introduce you to your team.”

Peter blinked, tilted his head. “Team?”

###### 

Spider-Man was part of a team, and he had been for a few months now. They were meshing about as well as super powered teenagers could. He liked them, even though the times they had played video games together had nearly ended in blood.

There was Ava Ayala, also known as White Tiger, a no nonsense know-it-all that got her abilities from a mysterious amulet that she'd gotten from her father. He didn't know where her family was, but given that she was living in the helicarrier, he had a feeling they weren't around anymore. He liked her a lot, and she was an invaluable study partner.

Family-less was a theme, because Luke Cage was in the same boat in the sky. He was super strong and mostly invulnerable, and he wanted everyone to call him Power Man, but for some reason that didn't stick. Sparring with Luke was like trying to beat up a brick wall, though they did well together when it came to disabling people that needed it.

Danny Rand may have been a new friend of his, but he was quickly becoming a very close one. His tag was Iron Fist, and though his fist wasn't made of iron, instead being made up of some ancient magic of some kind that Peter didn't even try to understand. He was mystical and sometimes spoke in proverbs, but Peter still really liked him. When Peter was around him, he felt most peaceful by association. And Danny also knew exactly was to say to make his anger evaporate.

Then there was Sam Alexander. Peter had a tendency mentally growl when he thought of him. He was known as Nova, and he had some kind of extraterrestrial power to absorb and expel energy or something. Peter's mind checked out when Sam talked, because his voice was so annoying and he'd rather listen to a mental chorus of 'lalala.' Also Sam had taken to calling him 'webhead.' Peter definitely needed Danny's help calming down from the reaction to that. It would be easier to hate Sam if he weren't so good in battle and sometimes a bit friendly. But whenever Peter got into the mood of tolerating him, Sam did something that made him rage.

But, all in all, he was doing okay with his team.

The best part of working with SHIELD is that they were allowing him to do his own patrolling. Manhattan was his. Also they were doing their own investigation to find the man that killed his uncle. And when they did, at Fury's promise, they'd point Peter in the right direction. Until then, he was still doing his own searching and a whole lot of waiting.

He was lying on a gargoyle, chin in his hands and feet up behind him, ankles crossed and swinging, and looking down at the streets when his comm beeped in his ear. He cleared his throat and touched it. “Spider-Man here,” he said in his best 'I'm a hero!' voice.

Tony chuckled at him. “Hey, Peter, just calling to ask if you're coming home for dinner. Your dad's making burgers tonight.”

“Oh, hey Dad,” Peter said, sitting up and dangling his legs on either side of the gargoyle's head. “It's looking pretty quiet tonight, so I probably will. I'll call if I'm not.”

“Okay, awesome,” Tony said, and he was quiet for a second, before he spoke up again. “Hey, Peter, I saw a letter on your desk when I was letting Pixie into your room. I didn't want pry, but I couldn't help but notice it was from MIT.”

Peter smiled at the curiosity in his dad's voice. “Oh yeah, that letter,” he teased, unable to help himself. He slipped off the gargoyle, shooting two webs under it and quickly sticking them together before flipping up onto the loop to use it as a swing. “What about it?” he asked casually as he swung in a wide arc.

“What was it about?” Tony asked, the tone of his voice anxious and impatient.

“Oh, y'know, nothing much,” Peter said as he continued to swing back and forth. He heard his dad grumble and grinned. “It's just an acceptance letter.”

“What!” Tony wailed immediately. “You got in? Peter, that's great! Forget the burgers, buddy, we should go out to celebrate! Anything you want.”

Peter laughed, before he immediately felt bad for the next bit of news he was going to give his dad. “Actually,” he said as he shifted back to hook his knees with the web loop then continue to swing, just upside down. “I think I'm going to take a year off before I go to college. I was thinking I'd try to get a journalism internship at the Daily Bugle.”

Tony was silent for nearly a full minute before he said, very flatly, “What.” It wasn't a question.

Peter held in a laugh by covering his mouth, before he coughed. “Sorry, Dad.”

After grumbled something incoherent, Tony sighed heavily. “Your other dad's going to be ecstatic, and I'm going to have two creative people in my life. Joy. I'm going to go cry in my workshop. Bye, Peter.”

Peter snorted out a chuckle. “Bye, Dad.” He touched his comm again, he dropped his arms like deadweight under him, before continuing to swing.

As he moved serenely through the air, he could hear an acoustic guitar down below, and he glanced around languidly until he found a man on a corner playing and singing for money. When Peter heard the words to the man's song, he smiled big enough to hurt his cheeks.

_Spider-Man, Spider-Man,_  
 _Does whatever a spider can._  
 _Spins a web, any size,_  
 _Catches thieves just like flies._  
 _Look out!_  
 _Here comes the Spider-Man!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you for the super swift beta read from my bestie and roomie, [ComingUpBlue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ComingUpBlue). She makes me seem a bit less crazy.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed the conclusion to this story. I had a blast writing the whole thing. Thank you to everyone that stuck around during the journey and to new readers as well! :D


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